The King's Vineyard
by Mary Aseltyne
Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the vineyard of the Elvenking, Thranduil
1. Default Chapter

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 1/?

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Pairing: Thranduil/OFC

Rating: PG13 for sexual content (later chapters)

Warnings or spoilers: None for this chapter

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elvenking, Thranduil's, vineyard.

Chapter one 

Travel along the narrow road that paralleled the Celduin River was easy enough. Most of the roads in this area of Middle-earth were still passable with no sightings reported of the Dark Lord's minions out and about on a mission of terror in many years.

The river flowed out of the north from the Lonely Mountain and formed the eastern boundary of the region known as Rhovanion, where the Elves dwelt in the legendary great forest. It was also a watery highway of commerce, but its current was too swift for easy travel against it. It was faster, when headed north, to travel beside it on the road.

It was actually a footpath, patiently carved out and kept smooth by the river bargemen, who traveled this way towards the inland Sea of Rhun. They walked alongside on the riverbank, using their long poles to guide the unwieldy flatboats down to the sea-shore, and ropes as they pulled them back afterwards. But the river traffic had been slow this year, and the bargemen few in number. And, on this autumn day, the only travelers to be seen at all were two people riding north in a small cart pulled by a pair of slow-moving horses.

"In Esgaroth," the man in the driver's seat exclaimed suddenly, while gesturing ahead in the direction they rode in and then beside them at the Celduin, "this river is called The Running River. Bah! They have no imagination, the men who live beside the Long Lake."

He shook his head with a last derisive snort at the dull-witted sounding name for a vital artery that kept commerce alive in the entire eastern region. Beside him on the cart's seat, a young woman sat and pressed her lips together to smother a grin.

"Celduin. What does the Elvish name mean, uncle Dwain?" There was a sly smile behind his niece's voice. She knew very well what it meant, having a shared interest with him in the doings of the Fair Folk and especially in their lyrical language.

"It means," there was a pause, and then a rueful chuckle. "It means, Running River." The man shook his head at himself and his prideful disdain of the Long Lake vocabulary. "Perhaps I was too hasty in my judgment," he remarked sheepishly. She thought she knew why her uncle was so inclined to make sudden snap judgments of the people of Esgaroth, whom he had never met, and she felt sympathy towards him.

They were on their way to the vineyards of the Long Lake region to seek any possible work they could procure there. It had taken the man more than a few long, hard and brutal years in his failing Dorwinion vineyards to finally come to this reluctant conclusion. The subsequent uprooting of his niece from the only home she knew, to embark on a journey of unknown peril, was a torment to his normally indomitable spirit.

She felt how concerned he was about her, and her ability to cope with strangers in a strange land, and she loved him for it. He knew how shy she was, painfully shy, but she was determined to be brave for him as they tried to find a new home together in a distant land.

For a drought had hit his vineyard, and especially hardest on the western slopes that bordered the sea, and had turned the normally green vines into dry brown stalks. None of the local growers, who suffered similar conditions, had seen anything like it in their lifetimes; her uncle Dwain struggled manfully with his meager vines for several disastrous seasons in a row, and had finally surrendered to the inevitable. He would take his chances beside the Long Lake, where rain still fell in normal amounts, rather than starve in stubborn pride.

Although she tried not to give in to grief at the loss of the only home she knew, as they rode away towards the north, it took all her effort to remain dry-eyed. She did not want to upset her uncle any more than he already was.

At last the river, and the road before them, bent to the west and ahead she could see that the trees grew thicker along either side. They would soon hide her former home from view behind them. She turned to look back, one last time, and gazed at the grapevine stakes that marched in regular formation all along the hills of Dorwinion, until they reached the point of no return in the distance, and were no longer visible. She batted back tears, and tried to concentrate on more pleasant thoughts.

Now that they were approaching the outer edges of the great forest, she wondered if they would see any Elves. They preferred to remain unseen but she still had hope that a party of them might come along on horseback. They were known to use the same boatman path at times when they rode in great numbers, which was rare.

When she was fifteen, many years before, her uncle had taken her to the wine festival that was held each year on the northern shore of the inland sea. She had seen Elves there, for the first and only time in her life, and had never forgotten them. Mysterious and serene, a handful of them had stood on the sidelines in their odd but beautiful clothing; fitted tunics and leggings in shades of pale leaf-green and bark-tan, and silently observed the humans around them.

Their eyes were quick and bright, but their facial expressions never changed. They seemed neither aloof nor shy; rather they seemed detached from the activity around them, as if they were at some remote distance, instead of nearby.

As she stared at them, her uncle Dwain had explained that the Elves had come to the festival to make arrangements for the delivery of the yearly supply of wine for their monarch, the fierce Elfking warrior, Thranduil, who lived underground beside an enchanted river deep in the great Greenwood Forest of Rhovanion. She was proud to learn that they had ordered a few barrels of her uncle's own vintage for their king's private table. But she never had a chance to speak to them, or to hear them talk.

Last year they had again traveled to the same festival site, but this time it was to gather information from the other growers and trade horror stories about the drought stricken grape crops. Her uncle had learned that those same Elves had purchased their own vineyard in the north, and the idea of seeking work there, if the next crop failed, had taken purchase in his mind.

"The Elves will remember my wine, Cella," he had assured her when the decision to move had finally been made. "They will know I am not a ragged drifter who travels the roads seeking temporary labor for food." She had agreed that the Fair Folk would be foolish to refuse his services.

And now, as they traveled along the same river that had carried her uncle's wine barrels, in years past, up north and into the hidden Elven realm, she hoped to catch another glimpse of the lovely creatures in their woodsy clothes. But in all the long days of travel towards the Long Lake, she never saw one.

To be continued….


	2. Chapter 2?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 2/?

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Rating: R for mature sexual content (later chapters)

Warnings or spoilers: None for this chapter

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit! Thaladir, the king's seneschal, is the property of Mary and Malinorne.

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard

Chapter two  
  
It came as a surprise to Cella to find that the people who lived in the Long Lake area were not very different at all from those who lived along the shores of the inland sea of Rhun. She began to feel comfortable almost immediately as the small houses and barns of the local population began to appear on the sides of the road. They were identical to the ones she had grown up seeing, with the same thatched roofs, the same squat fences, and the same types of dogs behind them, barking at the sight of strangers.  
  
The town itself was smaller and cleaner than the one she and her Uncle Dwain had left behind beside the inland sea. There were more than a few friendly smiles cast their way as they stopped at a local inn to eat a hot meal and inquire for directions to the Elvenking's vineyards. Cella was excited at the prospect of seeing other Elves again, but was not sure she was ready to meet the fierce Elf monarch, whom she had been told legends about since she was a child.  
  
Thranduil's newly purchased lands were no more than an hour's travel away, due west of the lake itself, and Cella and her uncle were heartened to hear that more than a few local folk had found good employment at the new vineyard with the Elves, especially at harvest times. The people at the inn, even those who clearly had misgivings about the Fair Folk in general, had agreed that the Elvenking treated his workers fairly and paid them handsomely.  
  
The sight of grapevines, their leaves already turning from green to autumn tones of rust and gold, and heavy with plump purple fruit, appeared to be a tonic to her uncle's spirits when they arrived. He breathed in the aroma of the vineyard, drawing great lungs full of the atmosphere into his body as if he were a thirsty man drinking water, and seemed more relaxed even as he sat straighter.  
  
Gates barred the entrance, but the Elves that greeted them wore pleasant, friendly smiles as they approached the cart. Her uncle returned their greeting with a few Elvish words and a polite bow of his head. They seemed mildly surprised to hear their own tongue spoken to them. Cella tried not to stare at them, but they were hard to ignore. These Elves were not dressed like the ones she had seen as a teenager, in quiet pale forest colors. Instead, they wore dark green tunics over black, skin-tight leggings with shiny calf-high leather boots.  
  
They wore their hair long and plaited in clever braids, like the Elves she had seen before, but carried no quiver or bow. Instead, these gate guards each had a long knife in a scabbard at their waist, and looked just as capable of defending themselves. Cella could feel her heart beat a little faster as they glanced at her occasionally, while her uncle spoke to them. Only one of them seemed to understand Westron, or the other was just more interested in inspecting the cart horses than in the conversation. She could feel their bright eyes flicker over her from time to time, and it warmed her to feel that, in a nice way.  
  
She was unused to male attention, except for the fatherly affection of her uncle. Naturally, he had hired men to work in his vineyard during the growing and harvesting months, but she had little interaction with them except when she hastily served them their meals in the morning and at supper-time. The hired hands had known better than to molest her, or even to look too long at her, for fear of reprisal from her protective uncle. But even so, they held no interest for her. She found them uniformly dull and dirty.  
  
But these Elves were different, and she appreciated their curious but polite appraisal of her as she sat listening. Suddenly, the one who was petting and whispering to the cart horses stood at attention and uttered an Elvish word. Hoof beats were heard from behind, and Cella turned in her seat to see a small group of Elves on horseback, coming upon them quickly.  
  
At the lead was one of the largest horses she had ever seen, except for draft horses, a large chestnut-colored brute with enormous muscled legs, which it pounded into the road as if trying to drill its hooves into the very center of the earth, only to pull them out again and fly ahead with incredible speed. Astride the horse, clad in the same dark-green leather tunic as the gate-guards, but with a large darker cloak that sailed out behind him in a majestic fashion, rode the stern Elfking, Thranduil. His golden hair shone in the sun as it flowed in the breeze made by the smooth gallop of his steed.  
  
Cella knew who he was, immediately, without ever having seen him before. He seemed to glow with an inner light that the other Elves did not possess, and even from a distance the intensity of his interest, as he gazed ahead at her and her uncle seated on the cart, seemed to pierce her from afar. She turned back around to face forward and trembled as he approached.  
  
The powerful horse snorted and whickered as it was drawn to a halt beside the cart, and the Elfking studiously regarded Cella and her uncle as the gate guards presumably explained their arrival, even though they spoke so quickly that she could not understand them. And she was too afraid of drawing attention to herself to ask her uncle for translation, even though he did not speak very much more Elvish than she did. She was even more afraid to lift her eyes to peek at the king, as her uncle formally introduced himself and her to him, even though she was sorely tempted.  
  
"Dwain, son of Dake." With a nod of recognition, the Elf pronounced the name with a noble inflection. "Yes, I know the name well. You are an excellent vintner, as I recall." Her uncle eagerly promised a hard day's labor as a field-hand, for decent pay and lodging. She was not sure she enjoyed seeing him act so desperately agreeable and eager to please these Elves. He was no mere peasant-laborer.  
  
"A pity about the drought..." the king said, and Cella bristled slightly at the term. The one emotion she had learned to despise above all others was self-pity. But, as she listened to him talk about the dry spell and crop losses, the Elfking did not try to make her uncle sound deserving of pity, and for that she felt grateful towards him.  
  
Nervously wringing her hands, as Thranduil spoke to her uncle, Cella gazed straight ahead at the large structures that topped the small rise leading up to the winemaking operation. She could see the familiar oversized vats, in which she knew the grape pressers would be standing, to squeeze the juice and pulp from the purple clusters of fruit, after the harvesting began.  
  
There were tents rigged up, too, and she figured these were for the itinerant workers, such as herself and her uncle, who were hired at such places for seasonal work only. Her heart sank a little at the thought. To come all of this way only to live in a tent would be disheartening, but she was determined to bear it, if necessary.  
  
"Cella," whispered her uncle, shaking her out of her speculations. She turned to him, but he was gesturing towards the now silent Elfking, who she was afraid to look at. But she gathered her courage and shifted her gaze.  
  
He was staring right at her, his face completely expressionless, but his eyes kind. He must have been speaking to her, she realized in horror, and everyone was silent while they waited for her to respond. The mighty Elf released her gaze and turned to her uncle.  
  
"Is she deaf, or mute?"  
  
"I am neither," said Cella quickly, before her uncle could answer for her, and surprising herself more than she did him. "I am sorry, my lord, but I did not hear your question." Heart pounding for fear she had made a bad impression, she glanced at her uncle for help, but the Elfking responded.  
  
"Show me your hands." His voice was as kind as his eyes, and she lifted her hands quickly, almost before she had known she would do so. "Very good," he pronounced and then spoke to one of his Elf-guards, who opened the gate. "Welcome to my vineyard, Dwain son of Dake." After a nod to the guard, he rode ahead and the cart followed, and the other Elves on horseback flanked them on either side.  
  
The Elf who had been conversing with the cart horses earlier now had a hand on the neck of the mare on the side farthest from Cella, and seemed to be whispering directions into the horse's ear as he trotted along beside it.  
  
After pulling her eyes away from him, she looked up ahead and noticed, near the wine-making buildings and sheds, a curved drive that branched off from the main road.  
  
As they passed by the large, billowing tents. Cella was surprised to see that they contained not rows of sleeping pallets, as she had expected, but tables and benches set up for outdoor eating. Even her uncle, beloved by his workers, had not provided them with any more shade, during harvest time, than could be had naturally from the trees that grew on his lands. And he certainly provided nothing as fancy as tables with real linen for their daily meals. But when the cart entered a wide tree-lined drive everything else she had seen was suddenly ordinary in comparison to what lay just ahead.  
  
Her heart began to feel lighter and, when the main house pulled into full view, she felt dizzy for a moment at the notion of entering within its pillared entryway; she had never before seen a building of its size. Some of the townsfolk in the inn, where they had eaten lunch earlier that day, had told uncle Dwain that the Elfking had built himself a regular palace, even though it was not his permanent residence. It was large enough for all of the wine-making wood-Elves to dwell within, as they did in their cave-like home within the forest that the local people here called Mirkwood.  
  
"All on top and underneath of each other in holes, so I hear tell, like rabbits!" The remark was made by a man with a knowledgeable look in his eye, to a chorus of agreements and nodded heads. At that time, Cella cringed at the coarse comparison; although she had only seen them once, she knew that Elves in no way lived like animals. She doubted that any of those men had been within the Elven vineyard at all, for they spoke with such ignorance about their living habits.  
  
Her uncle's Dorwinion estate had a large main house, which she had shared with him, with a few smaller huts near to it for his overseers, vintners, and the permanent field-hands. But even all of those buildings put together would not equal half the size of the Elvenking's mansion.  
  
Merry Elves were out on the landing to greet their monarch and stayed to assist them from the cart. As they helped to unload their pitifully few belongings, Cella felt as if she had entered an enchanted world from her youthful dreams. Small fountains splashed playfully amongst the fragrant blossom-covered bushes and ornamental trees in the garden that surrounded the front of the grand house. She followed the helpful Elves up the massive entry stairway and then through great doors.  
  
They were led down a long corridor that took them back out of doors and into a small, lovely inner courtyard planted with flowers and small fruit trees, and surrounded by a wall shaped in a half circle. Under the pitched roof of the veranda was a door that opened to a private residence. A tall robed Elf, with a seriously sober demeanor, and impeccable grooming, stood still beside the entrance as the other Elves carried their possessions in ahead of them. He acknowledged the both of them with a tight nod, and then indicated that Cella should proceed within, while he advised her uncle of His Majesty's wishes for their employment.  
  
The rooms in the home they were given seemed at first to be sparsely furnished, but there was no noticeable lack of basic creature comforts. The table, chairs, benches, and shelves, were cunningly crafted to be both useful and decorative. Candles in sconces provided a serene light when the windows were shuttered, and the fireplace, now cold and lifeless, appeared to be capable of warming the entire place. She quickly threw open the windows to let sunlight flood in and explored their new home.  
  
The kitchen area was small but tidily put together, and the cupboards were filled with various foodstuffs and spices. A stove covered one wall, and a rack with pots and pans hovered overhead. There was a short hallway that led to some bedrooms and another smaller chamber for bathing.  
  
Cella chose her own room while she waited for her uncle; it had a decent bed, a chair, and a bedside table. There were hooks on the wall to hang her clothing, and a small shelf above the door for storage. She opened the shutters and looked out the window over the grapevines to the mountains in the far distance. She felt so instantly at home that the wearying miles she had suffered through melted from her mind and body.  
  
Even as her uncle had been uplifted by the sight of the healthy grape crop, upon arriving at the vineyard, she felt the same inner rejuvenation at the idea of living here amongst the Fair Folk. With rising spirits, and a strange new sense of light-heartedness, she hoped they would never have to leave. She heard her name being called and she returned to the main room to find her uncle beaming with joy at her.  
  
"Cella," he said breathlessly, "I do believe I made the right decision, coming here."  
  
Slightly dazed, he sat on the bench and told her in an awed whisper that the Elvenking was going to install him as a vintner; to work alongside the Elves in the blending and filtering process. He would not have to work in the fields as a common laborer, although Cella did not think he would have minded that so much, as he had always loved getting his hands dirty and purple-stained each harvest season back home.  
  
The first few days after harvesting, the pressed grape juice had to rest in the huge collecting vats before it would be strained, blended and put in the barrels, and so he would always join the field-hands to hurry them along that much faster. In fact, there was not a single step along the way in the entire process in which uncle Dwain was not a vital participant, from planting the tender plant shoots in the spring, to helping load the wine-barrels on the flat boats for transport after they were sold.  
  
Pride and joy filled her at the news, for she knew the honor shown her uncle by putting him to work doing the delicate operations needed to prepare the grapes juices for final fermentation. It was an important process that often determined both the flavor and potency of the vintage. Cella praised her uncle and congratulated him profusely. It was a great honor to both his name and reputation to be given such a position so soon after arriving.  
  
But it was more than just the important job title, and nice lodgings, that had delighted him. If the king was satisfied with his abilities, he would be promoted quickly. Mortals with decent wine-making skills, who also did not fear the presence of the Fair Folk, were rare. But Elves from the great forest possessing even rudimentary wine-making skills were fairly nonexistent.  
  
Until recently, these wood-elves had never grown grapes or made wine, and had no age-old family customs, or traditions, to fall back on. They were dependent on human resources until they had achieved the appropriate skills and techniques. Thranduil was more than pleased with Dwain's arrival; he was both relieved and grateful.  
  
"At least that is what the tall Elf fellow told me," her uncle explained. He shook his head in wonder. "He seems a decent enough sort, says he is the king's seneschal, sort of a fancy term for chief, or overseer, I think. And he never cracked a smile, either. He doesn't seem so much at home around here with that fancy garb on and all."  
  
Cella thought that the grim, towering, robed Elf, although certainly intimidating, had a quality of nearly regal dignity about him that transcended ordinary usefulness. Like his monarch, Thranduil, the tall Elf's very presence inspired awe and in her eyes that was an impressive talent, and one that she envied in all Elves. She felt protected and secure knowing they were nearby. But, she kept her thoughts to herself and nodded as if in agreement with her uncle.  
  
"Tomorrow, you and I are both to report for harvest detail, they won't need me at the vats for a few days," her uncle said, almost apologetically. "The grapes are at their peak, Cella, so every hand will be needed." She looked at her own hands, knowing, for a few weeks, it would be the last time they would be this clean and unscarred. At least she and her uncle would not have to return to the Long Lake town to beg for food and shelter; she felt they were lucky for that.  
  
Then, while she looked at her hands, as if seeing them for the first time, she remembered the Elvenking's request that she show them to him, and how he had said, "very good". Had he seen something in them that she had never noticed before? Picking grapes was not difficult; she had done it every year since she was old enough to carry a full basket, and without complaint.  
  
Although Cella knew it was a foolish notion, she marveled to think that maybe he had seen that in her hands, and she wondered what else he had noticed. The idea sent a small shiver through her and, to shake it off, she set about gathering kindling for a fire. But another image, unbidden, kept teasing her thoughts.  
  
The Elfking's own hands. She had certainly noticed them as he sat astride his horse beside their cart today. Large and well formed, he held them crossed at the wrist atop his thigh as he spoke with them, never lifting them to gesture or to emphasize a point. She could not look at his face, but she could not stop looking at his hands once she had noticed them.  
  
The fire began to burn merrily as her uncle loaded larger logs atop the kindling. Cella huddled close to it and shivered again, despite the heat, as she wondered what those noble hands would feel like if they ever touched her.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 3

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Warnings or spoilers: None for this chapter

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

sss sss sss

The next morning, after a series of horn-calls signaled day-break, Cella and her uncle rose and gave blessings for their good fortune. They ate a simple breakfast of bread and preserved fruits found in the cupboards of their cozy kitchen and prepared for their first shift in the vineyard. Upon leaving their door, they were met by a pair of friendly Elves, who spoke the Common Tongue, sent to provide escort to the gathering area for all of the harvesters.

Himbor, a dark-eyed Elf with a merry demeanor, introduced himself to them as the vineyard's head harvest overseer; he was in charge of the entire grape picking operation. He asked uncle Dwain, on behalf of Thranduil, to oversee some of the mortal laborers that day, and to be prepared to give the king an evaluation of them later. These field-hands in question had been recruited from both the town and the surrounding areas, and were arriving soon in wagonloads.

Accompanying Himbor was his sister, Glawareth, who was almost as tall as her brother and had the same friendly, dark eyes as he. Cella was delighted to find she would be partnered with the graceful Elleth in the fields that day.

These Elves were such exquisitely elegant beings that it distressed the mortal maid to think of them getting their beautiful garments and lovely hands dirty and stained. She herself had donned her only other clothing beside the dress she traveled in, a short-sleeved linen blouse and a woolen skirt, which were both well-worn and suitable for field-work.

It was an outfit that had been through many a growing season and bore stains and tears from every harvest on her uncle's land since the day she had first worn them out into the picking lines. Patched and thin, in some places tattered to the point of near disintegration, they would have to do until she could afford to purchase enough fabric to sew herself new ones.

She tried not to feel envious of Glawareth who wore a pale yellow blouse and leaf-green skirt. They were fashioned out of an enchanting fabric that resembled the substance from which the tiny wings of the similarly-colored butterflies that flittered about the vineyard were made. She looked like a lovely flower, and Cella felt more in awe of her, than jealous. She had long ago learned to put aside vanity in order to do without fashionable garments and be able to accept it cheerfully.

Nearly every possession of beauty or value that she or her uncle owned had been sold over the past few years to maintain the vineyard during the drought. Uncle Dwain was determined to keep his handful of permanent workers fed and sheltered until the weather turned its blessings back upon the land. But, in the beginning, it distressed Cella to watch the once beautiful home they shared being slowly stripped of its comforts.

At first, they only sold what few true treasures there were on hand, such as her mother's silver tea service and her father's tooled saddle, the only two items of significant worth that had been passed along to her upon their deaths.

There were brass candlestick holders, and a couple of pieces of framed artwork, passed down to the household from prior generations, that were sold along with her parents' possessions. And then, later, some fine pieces of furniture, their fancier linens, dishes, and clothing, and, at the last, practically every other item left in their home except for what they wore on their backs.

They kept only some extra clothing for working in, and the few keepsakes of her parents' that Cella had not allowed to be sold: a knitted blanket from her mother, in pale yellow and blue hand-spun yarns, and her father's small collection of books. These last were slender, leather-bound, and embossed with gilded titles, and they looked handsome on a shelf. Her uncle had tried to gently persuade her to part with them, but she had stubbornly refused.

However, some things have a value that can not be measured in either coin or sentiment, such as the tools a man uses to make his living. Her uncle had kept, and carried along with him, his favorite implements for both the cultivation and harvesting of his beloved wine grapes. He would not part with them, at any price, no matter how severe the situation. They were extensions of his hands and arms, and without them he would have been as handicapped as a limbless person.

Before they had set off for the fields that morning, he carefully removed two folded knives from their leather holders in his tool box and handed one to Cella. It had a curved blade that opened with a springed mechanism and was made specifically for cutting grape stems. She thanked her uncle, slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, and felt well-prepared for the day.

At the assembly area, she and Glawareth were both issued flat, shallow wicker baskets for packing the grapes in, and wide-brimmed straw hats meant to shade their eyes from the bright glare of the brilliant autumn sunshine. They picked as a team, one would cut the clusters and hand them to the other, who would carefully remove stems, leaves and insects from the fruit.

Each bunch was then gently placed side-by-side in the flat-bottomed baskets, to prevent bruising. As soon as a basket was filled, a gatherer would be signaled to come and carry it away, after leaving an empty one behind.

With such a bountiful grape-crop available, only the ripest would be selected for harvest on this first day, but a careful eye was needed to distinguish the nearly, but not quite, ready fruit from that which was at its peak. And even though there was not much time to spare before the grapes became over-ripe, and spoiled, undue haste was not encouraged.

Each line had an overseer who would point out the ripest bunches to the pickers, and inspect the grapes laid out in the basket afterwards for burst skins or too many stems left intact. Cella demonstrated a good eye for judging the fruit, and a soft hand at picking them, and she and Glawareth were soon trusted to work without supervision.

Her Elleth partner spoke little, but smiled pleasantly during the laborious task, and the time seemed to pass by effortlessly. There was no sign of the intimidating Elfking with his fascinating hands, or even of the tall robed Elf who her uncle had dealt with the day before.

Under careful questioning, Cella learned from Glawareth that His Majesty, Thranduil, only visited his vineyards occasionally, leaving most of the daily operations to his seneschal, whose name was Thaladir, and his chief overseers such as her brother, Himbor.

"And His Excellency, Thaladir, is only here for half of the year" explained Glawareth. "He divides his time and duties evenly between the vineyard and back at home in the king's palace. Now that we have begun the harvest, he shall not likely return to the halls until the last wine-barrel is corked and put in the cellar." This information was comforting to Cella, who believed that the tall Elf could keep a steady head in any situation. And a watchful eye on all of them.

At mid-day, when a horn sounded signaling meal-time, Cella felt proud of herself and the Elleth for their ability to not only keep up with most of the female picking teams, both Elven and Mortal, but to excel compared to most of them. However, as much as she felt pleased with her own harvesting performance, she was not sure she could compare herself in any other way to the Elves, as not one of them had a single spot or tear on their clothing and they all had clean hands.

Glawareth's skirt and blouse were as fresh and crisp as they had been in the morning. Her hands were smooth and spotless, as if she had just bathed them in milk and soaked them in lemon-juice. Even her fingernails were clean and had a polished sheen on the outer surface. When the Elleth had taken over the picking chore and Cella the packing, she had seemed to wield the tiny curved blade too delicately to sever even the thinnest stem, and yet the fat clusters of purple fruit appeared to leap with delight into her cupped hands. It was marvelous to watch.

As they walked to the wagons to ride back up to the dining-tents, Cella was able to take a moment to inspect herself. Her blouse had several new small tears in it, was splattered with purple stains, and damp with perspiration. Her hands were sticky with juice and nearly uniformly grape-colored. She had a few cuts on the knuckles of her left hand from carelessness with her curved cutting tool. She felt she had a lot to learn from the Elven folk.

Uncle Dwain met up with them at the dining-tents, and insisted that Cella take her meal beside him at the table reserved for the overseers, away from the rest of the newly hired hands. As she washed her hands in a bucket of water on a table set up for such a purpose, he explained.

"I don't like the looks of some of them raggedy vagabonds the Elves've hired from around the town," he said. "Most of the crews are made of good local fellows, hard workers, and clean living folk." He paused to spit as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "But some of them are drifters, and there are always a few bad'uns in any group of that sort. I would rather keep my eye close on you until I get to know them all better."

Cella was happy to oblige her uncle, as she was not interested in attracting the attention of even the most clean-living, hard-working man from the field crews. She did not fear them harming her, although she was physically no match to any of them, because she felt protected under the unceasingly watchful eyes of the Elven overseers.

But when she saw the younger men flock around the few women who had been hired on to harvest, she was glad she had her uncle to keep them at bay. Even though she had not much experience with men, she recognized the hungry looks on more than a few male faces as they eyed the women-folk in their low cut blouses. Their simple clean-living mortal hearts may have been noble, but their intentions were clearly not. She bade farewell to Glawareth, for the time being, and sat at the overseer's table.

Although everyone seemed friendly to each other, the Elves gathered at one side of the tent and their human counterparts were at the other. The only exception was at the table with her uncle, where both Elf and Mortal were seated, and one other table full of women and Ellith that caught Cella's attention. They had arrived in a small group after every one else had begun their meals and sat together not far from where she was seated with her uncle.

They were dressed alike, and it was at first hard to distinguish mortal from Elf. They all wore white garments resembling a uniform, made out of a material that appeared to be sun-bleached muslin. Their hair was held back off of their faces with nets made of shiny silvery threads, the skirts on their dresses were short, and reaching just to the knee. They wore thonged sandals, which left most of their feet exposed, and their legs were shockingly bare.

They were the grape pressers, realized Cella, they had to be. Although the reason they wore white was a mystery, it was otherwise obvious from the way they were dressed. And it only took a few more moments of careful observation to see that there were both humans and Ellith combined, such as the differences in their ear shapes and overall body structures. Or, the way the Fair Folk had serene, placid expressions and voices which murmured softly, while their human companions talked loudly, or gestured broadly, as they all sat and talked with each other over their meals.

The whole group of them seemed to be upset about something as they spoke to each other. Although the noise from the conversations around her prevented Cella from learning exactly why, it was obvious they were worried. The women were shaking their heads and grimacing, and the Ellith faces were darkened with concern.

Her attention was drawn away from the anxious grape pressers to the other end of the tent where the seneschal, Thaladir, had appeared. He was moving among the tables of the women pickers, who were just finishing up their meals. He was eying each individual carefully, as if trying to measure them, and would point every now and then at one of them. That woman would rise and leave the tent. It was a worrisome sight.

"What is the seneschal doing, uncle?" she asked.

"I was just asking this fellow right here that same question," he answered, gesturing towards Himbor who sat beside him. "He says one of the pressers turned her ankle and they need a replacement. The grapes will start getting loaded in the stamping vats as soon as this meal is done, and there's more need for two good feet now, than for two more hands in the fields."

Nodding, Cella agreed that was an important position to be filled. She had pressed grapes at her uncle's vineyard. It was the most enjoyable part of the harvesting, and she had fun with the wives and daughters of her uncle's workers who joined her in the great vats to stamp the juice out of the grape clusters. They would each hold on to the other's shoulders, or forearms, in order to keep themselves balanced on the slippery surface below their feet.

But, towards the end of the day, someone would always lose their balance, slip, and drag a few more down beside her, and everyone left standing would eventually be pulled in to join them while attempting to help them back up, and they would all end up covered with the sticky purple juice. Remembering those fun times, Cella almost hoped, for a moment, she would be chosen, but she was not sure she was ready to be barefoot and barelegged around so many strangers.

When the tall elf with the majestic robes approached the main table, Cella's heart began to beat a little faster. She looked at her uncle in desperation, but he winked at her and told her to be brave if called upon. She promised she would, but she started shaking after the stern-faced seneschal pointed at her.

T b c


	4. Chapter 4?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 4

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Warnings or spoilers: None for this chapter

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

When Thaladir pointed at her, Cella froze in her seat. After receiving a few words of encouragement from her uncle, along with a gentle prod in her ribs, she reluctantly rose from the table. She followed the seneschal from the tent as if being led to her execution.

Although she told herself she was being silly, she felt as if all the eyes of those who remained seated were focused on her, which helped propel her that much more swiftly on the way. Once outside, the tall unsmiling Elf directed her to an area between the two pressing vats and told her to wait until she was called.

There, on a bench, sat the other women selected from the field-workers to be assessed along with her. Cella was the last to be chosen as a candidate to replace the injured wine-presser and she nervously wiped her damp palms on her skirt as she waited her turn. It took a few moments before she felt calm enough to pay attention to the activity around her.

Rack after rack of stacked baskets filled with bunches of ripe grapes, ready to be made into wine, were sitting on flat-bedded wagons nearby. Already some of the field-elves were in position to begin unloading them. She could feel their curious glances travel over the group of women, including her, on the bench. Their interest did not disturb her half as much as the stares they had all received earlier from the leering men among the hired help.

The seneschal was assisted by an Elleth clad in the same white muslin as the group of pressers in the dining-tent, but with an unmistakable air of authority about her that spoke of leadership. Thaladir briskly introduced her as Lanthiriel, the appointed chief grape-presser and wife to Himbor. She spoke a little of the Common Tongue and had a sweet smile, but she did not appear to be as merry as her husband.

One by one, the women were called behind a hastily improvised screen, made from a sheet of fabric draped over a length of rope, for a brief interview and quick physical inspection. As she waited, Cella looked around and wondered if she was going to see the Elfking again, or if he had returned to his Royal Halls within the forest, as Glawareth had indicated he often did.

She did not know if it was a comfort or not, to imagine the formidable monarch being gone from the vineyard, but she was glad he was not right here involved in this selecting process. The idea of being this near to him sent shivers down her spine.

When it was her turn, Cella felt nervous at first as she stood before the two Elves for an interview. The tall Elf seemed impressed as she told him of her prior experience at her uncle's vineyard, and she began to relax as she answered his questions.

But then the Elleth, Lanthiriel, requested that she remove her shoes and hose so that they could see her feet. She paused in indecision. Did she dare refuse? Somehow, Cella had a feeling that the noble seneschal would not hold this moment of hesitation against her, even with all of his stern glances.

She imagined the disappointment in her uncle's eyes if she missed this opportunity to escape the rigorous field-work for the more enjoyable grape-pressing task, and all because she was too shy to show her bare feet to the Elves.

Slowly, but with a new determination in mind to prove she could carry her own weight without complaint or hesitation in the king's vineyard, she removed her footwear and held her skirt calf-high in front of them both. After a quick, cursory inspection, the tall Elf nodded and then lifted his eyes from her legs. With a noticeable jerk to his posture, he stood suddenly at rigid attention, his eyes focused not on her, but at something or someone directly over her shoulder.

"Dartho." [Wait]

Cella jumped with a gasp when a voice from behind her spoke the Elvish command and she knew who the speaker was immediately. She did not dare turn to face the Elvenking, for fear she would faint dead away on the spot, and bring shame on both herself and her uncle.

Lanthiriel lowered her eyes and dipped in a graceful curtsey and Cella wondered if she should attempt one, too, or just remain standing still. But before she could decide, the Elfking stepped in front of her and spoke again, rapidly. She froze at his words, bit her lip, and stared at the ground next to his boots.

"Young lady," advised the seneschal, "His Majesty has graciously requested that you…"

"Yes, I know," she interrupted hastily. "He asked me to lift my foot, I understood." She did not want these Elves to think she was wholly uneducated in their language. Not after having spent so many hours in preparation for this day with her uncle during his patient lessons back home.

She did not feel capable, at that moment, of answering the monarch in his own tongue, so without lifting her eyes to him she answered, "Yes, Sire." The words came out of her mouth in barely a whisper.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the Elfking holding out a steadying hand to her as she balanced on one shaking leg to lift her other. Although it took every ounce of courage she could summon, Cella placed her own trembling hand upon his large one, as the only possible alternative was to lose her balance and fall over in front of him. Which was unthinkable.

She was not vain about her body, but she did think that her feet were not hideous in appearance. Her uncle made sure she wore woolen socks to prevent blistering from her leather shoes, which kept the skin smooth-looking. And she had bathed the night before, so she knew they were clean.

"Maer,"[Good] pronounced Thranduil before motioning at her to put her foot down. She released his hand and clasped hers together nervously, still too terrified to look at his face as he stood motionless beside her. "Gerich dail vaer, firiel. [You have good feet, mortal maiden.] The softly spoken words from the Elfking were meant for her ears only, and she could feel her cheeks turn red under his regard.

"Le hannon, hir nin,"[Thank you, my lord.] she managed to say without stuttering. And then he was gone, in a blink of an eye, and she could breathe again.

"Please, with me come," requested Lanthiriel in broken Westron before she exited the make-shift interview area. Still in a bit of a daze, Cella slipped her shoes back on over her bare feet, picked up her stockings, and followed obediently behind. It was not until the Elleth had led her within a small building, and she noticed several of the white uniforms on hooks upon the walls, that she realized she was the one who had been chosen to replace the injured grape-presser.

The Elleth held several of the muslin garments in front of the mortal maid before finally settling on one she found suitable in length. Cella's hair was brushed back from her face and plaited into a single braid. Over this was placed a net, woven of silvery thread, which was tied in place with a dark green ribbon.

After Cella was dressed, she was issued a pair of thonged sandals to wear back outdoors to what turned out to be a foot-washing station. Several shallow basins were placed side-by-side on a swept pebbled path beside the pressing vats. Half contained warm, soapy water, and the others had fresh clear water for rinsing afterwards.

As she swished her feet around in the footbath, Cella marveled at the fastidious habits of the Elves; she had never thought it necessary to clean herself this way before pressing the grapes. Her uncle had never made it a requirement.

The grapes were being sorted on a long table and, after being inspected one last time, were bathed with fresh water, also, before being tipped into the pressing vats. Cella felt a little thrill at the familiarity of the normal wine-making process blended with these strange new customs of the Elves.

She was given a towel to wipe her skin dry and then was directed up a small stepladder to enter one of the enormous cylindrical containers that stood above the dirt on a platform. Spigots to release the juice and pulp were being opened and oak buckets were being placed beneath the platform to collect it all.

Several women and Ellith, including Lanthiriel, silently waited for her as she climbed into the large wooden vat. She kept her eyes cast down at the purple clusters that squished delightfully beneath her feet as she took her place. As soon as she had grasped onto the brass railing that was attached around the inside of the oaken cylinder, for balance, they all began to stamp the fruit.

For Cella, there was no physical sensation quite like crushing grapes with her bare feet. Liquid velvet juice, grape skins like flesh, and all warmed by the sun, slid and squirted between her toes as she worked. Like a breath of fresh air on a stifling hot day, or a warm blaze on a frozen winter's eve, the experience must be felt in order to be fully appreciated. It could not be described with mere words.

After a few moments of silence, some of the women began to hum a little tune and soon were singing the funny words that went along with it. It was a silly song, with meaningless lyrics, sung in rounds and meant to help pass the time. Even the Ellith joined in and their sweet high voices added poignancy to the otherwise ridiculous ballad, which made it hard to resist. Cella learned it quickly and soon felt at home as they all began to walk in a circle within the vat, instead of standing in place as usual, while singing the absurd words:

Oh, stamp, stamp, and stamp the fruit,

Collect the juice,

Collect the juice,

Oh, stamp, stamp, and stamp the fruit,

Stir the juice,

Stir the juice,

Oh, stamp, stamp, and stamp the fruit,

Strain the juice,

Strain the juice,

Oh, stamp, stamp, and stamp the fruit,

Ferment the juice,

Ferment the juice,

Oh, stamp, stamp, and stamp the fruit,

Drink the wine,

Drink the wine,

Oh, the grapes are ready for stamping!

After the last of that day's grape harvest had been stomped down to just skins and stems, Cella and the rest of the pressers climbed out of the vats. Small cleaning crews of bare-footed Elves were waiting nearby with long handled hoes to scrape the left-over muck from the vat-bottoms, before rinsing them clean with even more buckets of fresh water.

Unlike Cella's wine-making seasons past, none of the women or Ellith in the pressing vat had lost their balance in the slippery grape matter. She was surprised at how clean they had all kept their muslin dresses, despite the sticky, splattering juices, except for the edges of their hems, which were all equally purple.

Back at the foot-washing station, the skin of the Elleth's feet and legs lost their grape tint immediately, but Cella was happy to see that all of the mortal women's lower limbs were as equally stained as her own were. The elven-made soaps did remove more of the dark juice than any other cleansers she had tried, but she was resigned to the fact that it would be many days before her feet returned to their normal color. She was still curious about the white uniforms and after handing hers over; she asked if she could see how they were cleaned of their grape-juice stains.

She was taken to the laundry sheds, where huge cast-iron pots bubbled and foamed over open flames. The gowns were tossed in and punched under the roiling, frothy brew with large paddles wielded by the Elves in charge of this task.  Lanthiriel, seemingly amused at the mortal maid's interest in the dress-cleaning, haltingly explained with her curious way of speaking that these boiled outfits would be laid in the sun the next day, to bleach any of the remaining stains away from the hems. There were plenty of extra gowns to replace them in the meanwhile.

Cella's mind was a whirl of new sights, sounds, and notions, as she sought her uncle at the end of her first full day's work in the vineyard. He was waiting near the pressing vats, seated on the same bench where she had waited for her interview with the seneschal. Before she had lifted her bare foot for the Elfking. The memory of that made her blush again. Her uncle peered at her inquisitively and asked her if she felt feverish.

"No, uncle Dwain, I have no fever." She laughed while putting her hands to her cheeks. "I have been watching the Elves boil clothes in the laundry shed. It was very warm inside."

Then, cleverly, she asked him if he had already prepared what he was going to say in his evaluation of the field-hands. She did not have to answer another question as he rambled on discussing the good pickers and packers and the bad 'uns, and the ones he just couldn't quite tell, but still had an opinion about, for the rest of their walk home. But she barely listened to a word he said.

All she could hear was Thranduil's voice when he spoke so softly to her, "Gerich dail vair, firiel." She looked down at her feet as she walked and wondered what the Elvenking would think of them now, all stained purple as they were beneath her shoes, despite the elven soap. Her uncle looked at her with some surprise when she began to giggle for no apparent reason.

t b c


	5. Chapter 5?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 5

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Warnings or spoilers: None for this chapter

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

sss sss sss sss sss

After they had finished their supper, uncle Dwain put his feet up on a small three-legged stool in front of the fire and smoked his pipe while Cella tidied the kitchen. She was singing the tune she had learned in the grape-pressing vat, as she swept crumbs from the floor, when she heard a knock at the front door. Two firm raps.

She could not see her uncle from where she was working, but when she heard him rise to answer the door she stopped singing and hummed softly instead so she could hear who had come to visit. She was sure it must be the overseer, Himbor, or perhaps the tall robed Elf, Thaladir, had come to hear her uncle's thoughts about the newly hired help.

Her humming came to an abrupt halt, with a sharp squeak, when she heard her uncle say, "Welcome, Your Majesty. Welcome. You honor our humble home. Please, come in."

When she recognized the answering voice, deep, rich, and unmistakable, Cella hastily slammed herself flat with her back against the kitchen cupboards as if she was even better hidden from view that way. The Elfking was here? In their home? She wanted to run, to hide in her room, but there was no way to do either without being seen. "Cella, we have company," her uncle called. "Bring some tea!"

Tea? She turned around in a complete circle at least three times as she tried to remember what the word 'tea' meant, let alone what she should do about it. Tea, of course, she knew what tea was. But where had she put it? Frantically she searched within the cupboards and shelves, passing by the canister that sat out on the counter where she had so carefully placed it just a short while ago when she had cleaned up after supper.

Nearly in tears, she was about to confess to her uncle and the distinguished guest that she had somehow lost the tea, when she realized that she could serve them wine, instead. All of the vineyard workers had been given a small barrel of wine that day, the last of the previous year's vintage, with cheerful orders to empty them for the new pressings. She searched for some suitable drinking bowls and moved the tea canister out of the way as she set the two nicest ones she could find on the counter.

It was only after she had wrestled the wine barrel over on its side to uncork it that she realized what she had just handled and then nearly collapsed with relief when she clutched the naughtily elusive tea canister to her chest. Now what?

Water, water, water…she needed to boil water. Step by step, with nearly painful slowness, Cella remembered how to make tea as if she had only just learned that day how to do so. When she finally had the small teapot filled, and with the fragrant leaves steeping within, she set it with the drinking bowls, some spoons, and some honey for sweetening, on a tray to carry into the sitting room. Standing still for several moments, she rehearsed what she was going to say before entering the room.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," she said sweetly, without looking at him, or even in his direction, as she set the tray on a small table near to where he sat with Uncle Dwain. "Will you want some honey for your tea?"

"No," answered the Elfking. Cella handed him and her uncle their drinking bowls, but, before she could escape down the hall and into her room, the Elf stopped her with a hand on her elbow, which froze her in place.

"Here," he said. "Sit with us." To her horror, she watched as he stretched out one long leg and hooked the toe of his boot around the stool near the fireplace and dragged it over between where he and her uncle were sitting. She began to protest, but when she opened her mouth to declare that her kitchen-cleaning chores were left unfinished, her uncle interrupted her.

"Sit, brother-daughter, sit." He winked at her while gesturing to the stool. She plopped down on it and stared at the floor in complete misery while he continued. "Gettin' this girl to sit still for a moment has never been an easy task, Your Worship," he explained. To Cella's utter mortification, he went on to describe her as a child, and how she had never crawled as a baby but merely stood up on her two feet one day and took off at a gallop. "She never walked if she could run, that's how come she got the name Cella, short for Celiel, that's Elvish, you know." 

From the corner of her eye, she saw the Elfking nodding as if in agreement, with a slight smile on his handsome face, while he listened to Uncle Dwain. She could not believe he was even slightly interested in the story of how her father declared that she had grown out of her birth name before ever she was a year old, and needed a new one.

"Meaning no disrespect, Your Highness," her uncle continued. "My brother was always studying up on you Fair Folk and your ways, you see, he was a bookish sort, so he called her 'Celiel'. It means 'running daughter' in Elvish, but as I say, I'm sure you know that. We just call her Cella for short."

The subject of the conversation prayed with all of her might for a hole to open beneath her seat and swallow her up within it to remove her from the nightmare she felt trapped within as the monarch politely assured her uncle that he did not feel the least bit disrespected by such a charming tale. But when the Elfking turned to her and spoke, she felt her cheeks grow red and prayed she would just die instead.

"Yes, Celiel is quite suitable," he said. "I could see that in your foot." She felt ice in her spine at the frightening thought that he might ask to see it again and she tried to tuck her shoes out of sight beneath her long skirt without drawing further attention their way. But he did not. Instead he returned to the previous conversation with her uncle about the field-workers under consideration. Her name's origin was not brought up for discussion again, to her relief.

But the Elvenking did pause now and then to direct a remark her way such as to ask if she was comfortable in their living quarters or to pass along a compliment on her efforts that day from Glawareth about her grape-picking abilities or Lanthiriel about her grape-pressing skills. She murmured brief gratitude-filled replies and tried not to say anything stupid. Her uncle puffed up like a proud rooster and took full credit for his niece's education in the vineyard.

"Ever since she was knee-high," he bragged, "she followed me around like a puppy-dog and had her nose in every doing with the grapes." The Elfking chuckled and she hoped she would not faint from embarrassment.

"The hour grows late," pronounced Thranduil suddenly as he stood to take his leave. "The new day comes too soon with all of its bitter toil." Uncle Dwain shook his head with a laugh.

"Not bitter for me, Your Worship, not at all! Aye, 'tis sweet toil indeed to get my hands on healthy vines. A real joy to the soul, so to speak." He stood to see the Elf out the door but Cella sat where she was as they moved away across the room.

Thranduil thanked her uncle with a handshake for his thorough report and bade them both have a good rest before sweeping out into the night. It was quite some time before Dwain, son of Dake, proud vintner in His Majesty's service, could coax a word from his niece's tightly closed lips.

"Honestly, uncle," she finally moaned, "did you have to compare me with a puppy-dog?" His earnest heartfelt apology earned him a wary smile, but she could not sustain feeling angry at him for very long. He was just being his usual talkative friendly self with the Elfking. With a sigh of resignation, she rose and stacked the drinking bowls on the tray with the pot and then carried it into the kitchen. It really had not been so terrible, serving tea to Thranduil, after all.

sss sss sss sss sss

The next morning, when the horn calls woke her, Cella sat up in her bed and felt as if every joint and muscle in her body had been crushed under rocks and then beaten with sticks. Stiffly, she rose to her feet and wondered what the Elvish word for "slowly moving" daughter could be.

She did not know what would be a worse fate for her aching body today. If the injured grape-presser felt better and replaced her in the pressing vats, she would have to go back out on the picking lines with Glawareth. Her arms and shoulders protested the thought. But, if the injured woman was still too lame to work then that would mean more marching around in circles. Her legs and feet felt like lead. Cella's true desire, to return to her bed, was out of the question.

After breakfast, she felt a little better and managed a cheerful smile for their Elven escort; today it was Lanthiriel who accompanied Himbor. Cella was happy to return to the grape-pressing area despite her heavy limbs. At least she would be hidden from sight in the vat, in case the Elfking ventured out with a notion to view some more body parts of unsuspecting women.

Lanthiriel formally introduced Cella to the rest of the pressers who were getting changed in their private dressing area. The ones she had worked with the day before were all familiar to her, but it was better to have names to go with their faces. She was comforted to learn that most of the other women were as sore-legged as she was, and were moving even more slowly, if that was possible. None of the Ellith displayed any discomfort, but they all appeared to be sympathetic.

She was to learn from her fellow workers that the poor woman whom she had replaced had done something more serious to herself than just turn her ankle, and had spurned the efforts of the Elves to tend to her injury. She was sent home the night before. No one knew her name. She had only just arrived like Cella and her uncle, the day before.

"She was daft," proclaimed a woman named Milda contemptuously. "I heard tell she called Master Thaladir a point-eared monster when he tried to get a hold of her ankle." Gasps and cries of shock at the insulting language toward the seneschal erupted from the entire group. All agreed that they were better off without the injured woman, if she was even injured at all, which most now doubted.

Cella was gratified to learn that she was not the only new mortal worker employed for this harvest season. She got to know the other local women, most of who lived in the town by the lake. It was encouraging to hear from them that in its short history the king's vineyard had earned a good reputation as an employer in the region. Among those who were not afraid to work alongside the Elves, that is.

Because they had to wait for that day's harvest to begin pressing, they were all going to scrub wine-barrels after their morning-meal, while they had the extra time. First, Lanthiriel offered massages to all of the stiff workers. She rubbed a pleasant smelling balm into the palms of her hands as they eagerly lined up. Her marvelous fingers moved swiftly up and down Cella's sore aching calf muscles and the pain seemed to dissolve away down through the tips of her toes.

"This will you have to rinse before you step in the vat," the elleth advised her in her broken Westron. "Yes, the healing effects cannot be washed away." After the sorest pressers had been attended to, they all visited the dining-tent for a leisurely breakfast. Cella had only eaten a few mouthfuls at her own table that morning; she had been in too much pain to enjoy breaking her fast, so now she was grateful for the second chance. By the time they sat at their table, the rest of the field-workers had gone to the picking lines and they had the place to themselves. It was quiet for a while as everyone ate, but there were soft murmurs from a few of the Ellith at the end of the table.

One of the villagers, a friendly young woman named Ingarde, spoke Elvish and huddled with the Ellith for several moments as they spoke in whispers. Her eyes widened as she listened, and then she turned to face Cella but announced to the entire table.

"Is it true that one of our newest pressers had a royal visitor come to call on her last night?" Her voice was archly teasing, but awe-struck nevertheless. As all eyes turned to her, and a stunned silence filled the tented area, Cella felt her face grow hot and knew she was blushing. That was not what had happened at all! Ingarde had made it sound like a personal visit.

"My, Cella, you must tell us all about it," pleaded Milda, and all of the pressers nodded and murmured agreement.

"He...he came to visit my uncle, really, to see him, not me..."  But Cella's stammering explanation fell on deaf ears for the tall robed elf, Thaladir, had come into the tent in the meantime, and the Ellith rose as one to curtsey. The women followed a heartbeat's pause behind them, but they were nodded at courteously by the seneschal in return, despite their tardy response. The barrels were ready for them, he had come to say, and some haste was necessary if they were done breakfasting.

As they left the dining-tent, Cella pulled both Milda and Ingarde aside and insisted they listen to her explanation, for she did not want them to harbor any notion that she had felt called on personally by the Elfking. Her heart would not stop banging until she got them to understand and believe her that he had come to talk with her uncle. Later, when she had calmed down while scrubbing the barrels, she realized they were mostly teasing her by pretending to think otherwise.

Once she could think about it dispassionately, she realized it was no insult to have the Elfking visit one's home. The Ellith, especially, treated her with a slightly more deferential attitude, and smiled her way more often than the day before. Cella finally spoke with Lanthiriel and asked her to make sure that everyone knew that she was not being courted, or even visited, by any Elf, royal or not, or any man either for that matter.

"Oh, this we knew, that His Majesty was collecting report from your uncle," replied the Elleth graciously, and then added, "But, you cannot deny the honor bestowed upon you with his attentions yesterday, dear mortal." Lanthiriel glanced down at her feet with a mischievous twinkle in her normally placid gaze, and Cella realized it was the Elleth's way of joking with her; much like Milda and Ingarde had done earlier. But she still felt irritated that such a focus was being put on her all of a sudden.

In the pressing vats, all of her discomfort, both inner and outer, came to an end as the stamping and singing commenced. Other women and Ellith alike were singled out for teasing for various reasons as the afternoon went by, and no one mentioned the Elfking's visit with Cella's uncle again, so she soon forgot her annoyance. After they had bathed their feet a final time for the day, Milda and Ingarde asked her to join them for supper in the dining-tent.

Before she could explain that she was needed at home to cook for her uncle, they pulled her over towards where he was waiting and asked him if she could stay. As it turned out, Uncle Dwain had been invited to sup with Thaladir in his private chambers, and he was worried about Cella's reaction to eating under the stern gaze of the tall elf. He offered her the choice of suppers with his blessing either way.

"I would rather eat in the tent, uncle," she replied with relief. After kissing his whiskery cheeks, she turned to trot off happily to the dining-tables with her new friends. It was not until she sat to eat that she remembered how she had lectured herself in her bed, the night before, to never move any faster than a slow, ladylike walk while employed at the king's vineyard. But no one seemed to notice or care.

t b c


	6. Chapter 6?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 6

By: Mary Aseltyne

Beta: Malinorne

Warnings or spoilers: mild violence

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

ssss ssss ssss ssss

Uncle Dwain had made Cella promise to come home directly from the dining-tent after she had finished her supper with her friends, Milda and Ingarde. To make sure they did not walk home by themselves, he arranged for the three of them to have a suitable escort back to the main house. Before he left to have his private meal with Thaladir, an Elf named Nandirn was found and assigned the duty.

As the women ate, he stood silently near their table. Her new friends giggled at first from the excitement of having such a handsome private guard, but they soon stopped trying to capture his attention and gossiped about the other hired workers instead, especially the injured grape-presser who had been so rude to the seneschal.

From time to time, Milda and Ingarde shamelessly flirted with some of the men at a nearby table. But Cella kept her eyes on her meal and her thoughts to herself. These women would travel on to other harvests after the Elfking's grape crop was picked and were probably used to bantering with the eligible bachelors who crossed their paths along the way.

More interesting to her was Nandirn, the silent, unmoving Elf who guarded their table. She felt a little sorry for him that he was given baby-sitting duties for three grown women, but she felt comforted by his presence and peeked at him when finally she felt brave enough. From the careful way he surveyed the other tables, Cella supposed her uncle had warned him to be on the lookout for bad'uns

At first, he seemed only just slightly less intimidating to her than the Elfking. He quietly observed his surroundings with the same calm, distanced attitude she had come to recognize as a common attribute of all the Fair Folk she had thus far encountered. Only rarely would his dark alert gaze sweep over the women at her table, although he showed not the least interest in them other than to see after their general welfare.

She had not seen him on the picking-lines, near the pressing vats, or in the laundry shed and she wondered in what part of the vineyard he worked. He did not wear the dark green tunic with black leggings like the gate-guards but instead was clad in dark gray. However, with his slender physique and elegant posture, he did not at all look suited for field-labor. But she realized that neither did any of the other Elves who worked alongside the mortals here.

"Milda," she asked, "why does the Elfking not have all of his subjects here in the fields?" It was a question she had meant to ask Glawareth when they returned to the picking lines together, but never had the chance. "Or at least why are there not more of them in the pressing vats with us?"

As it turned out, it was Ingarde who knew more about the subject. And, in fact, according to her, the Elves desired to have more humans in the fields and in the pressing vats, not less. But the local folk were only slowly coming to trust the Elvenfolk enough to step foot on their land, let alone seek employment from them. And yet almost anyone who came was quickly put to work.

The wine-making Wood-elves who had dutifully followed their monarch into this newest venture of his were the few, the brave, and the least offended by the confinement and manipulation of plant-life for personal pleasure. It apparently went against their instincts that bade them to allow all living things, except those in service of The Dark Lord, to remain in their most natural state and not be constrained by unnatural growing or living conditions.

"It made some of them wilder Elves ill," reported the knowledgeable woman. "When they saw the vines tied up and trained to grow up the stake and the stakes planted in straight lines," she lowered her voice, "it made them feel real uneasy, and nervous." Milda nodded in agreement.

"It's almost like they think the grapes have feelings," she whispered in awe, as if such a notion was a shocking thing to believe.

Cella had never thought of a growing plant in that way before, but she felt more intrigued than surprised. It made sense that the vines might have a different way of existence than the one she had always known. But it disturbed her to think that the grapevines might notice what was happening to them or feel uncomfortable about it.

"Some Elves couldn't stomach the sight," added Ingarde, shaking her head. Milda leaned towards them both, after throwing a sideways glance at their private Elf guard.

"But they all sure can stomach the wine," she said with a grin and a wink. Ingarde chortled but Cella worried that Nandirn would think they were talking about him, so she grinned back but kept silent.

"With the grape-stampers, it's a funny thing," said Ingarde. "There were more Elf ladies that came to do it in the beginning, but they couldn't squish the grapes fast enough. Their little dainty fairy feet just danced along the tops at first." She demonstrated by making her forefinger and middle finger into two little dancing legs that skipped too lightly over imaginary grape clusters. Now even Cella had to giggle out loud at the thought.

Ingarde went on to explain that the Ellith who worked now with them had been doing it for a couple of years and had learned how to smash the fruit beneath their bare feet deliberately. Not all of them took a liking to it; it injured their sensibilities, and those few had returned to their forest home. At least that was how she understood the situation to be.

When they returned to the main house, Nandirn followed behind them. His footsteps on the graveled road were so imperceptible that Cella found herself looking back over her shoulder more than a few times to make sure he was still there. She wondered if she would have been able to see him at all but for the light from the brilliant near-round moon overhead, as he seemed so capable, with his dark hair and gray clothes, of blending into the shadows.

Because the two village women were temporary workers, employed for the harvest only, they had more casual living arrangements than Cella and her uncle. Ingarde and Milda insisted that she come and see where they lived, while their Elf escort followed along dutifully. He waited outside the door to the women's living quarters, a silent sentry.

Her new friends shared a large sleeping room with the few other unmarried women who had been hired on. They each had folding lattice-work screens around their separate bed areas, for privacy. Otherwise it was a large, open, and airy space with numerous windows. These had louvered shutters and were placed high to prevent anyone outside from peeking in.

There was a similar sleeping section for the single men, who were separated from the women by the quarters for the married couples. Cella followed her new friends through the corridors and hallways as they gave her a tour of the mortal living areas. She wished those people at the Long Lake inn who spoke so ignorantly about the way the Elves lived could see the truth with their own eyes as she now did. This was no rabbit warren.

Just as in her and her uncle's private residence, the Elves provided the mortal tenants with a bare minimum of furnishings. Every item within these halls was useful or needful. But it was all also beautiful, the finish on the furniture and the woodwork shone in the mounted torchlight as if polished with butter. The metalwork on the fireplace hearths gleamed. The blankets on the beds were finely-woven with softly colored threads in curious subtle patterns.

Indeed, even though there were many duplicated objects, nothing seemed thrown together or hastily built. Instead, everything, the beds, tables, chairs, windows, walls, doors or floors, seemed lovingly and carefully crafted. Milda and Ingarde, with Nandirn following, walked the dazzled Cella down to the last corridor and through the little garden and onto the veranda of the home she shared with her uncle.

After they left her at her own door, with cheerful farewells, Cella hugged herself and looked up at the moon. It was not yet full, but it was bright enough to dim the stars directly overhead, and to throw shadows across the plastered wall of their enclosed courtyard. She wondered if the Elves celebrated the night of the Harvest Moon in the same way the people who lived beside the inland Sea of Rhun were wont to do. With bonfires and feasting and dancing.

Cella had always stood off to the side during the moon-lit partying at her uncle's vineyard. She would watch the younger folk pair off and disappear into the night shadows and reappear later looking flustered and proud of themselves. Even the married couples would cuddle closer under the moon that shone nearly as bright as the sun on a wintry day. Her uncle did not allow too much wild behavior, so the festivities and music would usually end early with him giving a last toast to the generous vines in his fields before shooing everyone off to their own beds or temporary sleeping areas.

Now that she was back to the private residence, Cella did not want to go inside to bed. The velvety autumn air felt like silk against her skin as a gentle breeze moved it around their tiny garden. The fragrance of the flowers was almost palpable against her flesh. The interior of their quarters was dark; her uncle must still be with the seneschal, more likely than not talking the poor Elf's ear off.

And she was still achy all over, although not as stiff and sore as she had been early in the morning. Her shoulders still grumbled a little about the grape-picking yesterday and her legs were not happy with the enthusiasm she had put into her stamping that day. Lanthiriel had advised her to take a warm bath before bed to ease her muscle pains, but Cella wanted her uncle to be home when she did. She wished she had the courage to have asked Nandirn to return to stand sentry at their front door after he had taken Milda and Ingarde back to their beds, as she assumed he had done.

There was a gate in the wall of the Elven-made enclave that surrounded the tiny garden. Feeling an irresistible urge to see the Lonely Mountain in the moonlight without any obstacles in her view, she unlatched the iron door and was rewarded with a glorious vista of shimmering-leaved grapevines in the foreground, which seemed to stretch for miles in orderly lines, backed in the distance by the dominating profile of the mountain.

Without conscious decision, Cella found herself walking toward it; it seemed so near in the crystal clear fall air, as if she could reach it with only a few swift strides. The mountains near her home by the inland sea now seemed to be lowly hills in comparison with the magnificent peak that towered before her. She wondered what it would be like to climb those steep slopes and stand on top to see the entire world. It was only after she had traveled several yards that she stopped and realized that she should not be outside of the gate by herself.

But it was hard to feel afraid in the brilliant light of the friendly moon. A few tattered clouds floated lazily overhead, in no hurry to get anywhere, and while she stood in indecision, a vee-shaped formation of honking geese came from the direction of the looming peak on their way to the balmy southern marshes. She was glad she had been out to see them, even though the melancholy music they made as they called to one another in the night sky tugged at her heart. They had a long way to fly to escape the chilly weather soon to come; and she silently wished them good-speed.

Standing perfectly still for a few moments, with her mouth slightly open so she could listen better, Cella decided she was in no danger. She could hear nothing besides crickets and the soft rasping whispers of the leaves on the nearby grape vines as they were tickled by the breeze. From within the main house, through the high opened windows, she could hear voices and activity suggesting that the last few stragglers from dinner were preparing for bed. Otherwise, the area around her seemed peacefully deserted.

There was an upper story that had several large windows with wooden shutters. Only a few were open and the rooms inside were dark and lifeless in appearance from where she stood. She wondered if in one of the rooms with the closed shutters, where faint light shone through a narrow crack here and there, her uncle sat huddled with the seneschal comparing notes on the field-workers. And then she realized that one of them could be the Elfking's private chambers, and for some reason she felt warmed by the thought, which she hastily pushed away from her mind.

"That is none of your business," she whispered out loud to herself, severely.

She decided to walk a little ways within the rows, to listen to their dry rustling voices. It was a custom of her and her uncle, when she was a child, to walk out in the vineyard at night to listen to the grapes. He would talk back to them too, which sometimes made her giggle. But usually he just praised them and asked them to continue to ripen well and bear sweet juice for the barrels.

This once happy bed-time habit had become sadder and sadder during the drought. Her uncle would plead with the vines to hold on for a while longer until the rains returned, as he assured them would happen. But even his most sincere pleas could not replace the life giving waters that refused to fall from the empty skies, and their walks in the moonlight became harder and harder to bear. It had been a few years, now, since last she had listened to the grapevines, and now she wished Uncle Dwain were here to tell her what they were saying.

And she thought about what Ingarde had told her about the unhappy Elves and their view of training the vines to grow. In an 'unnatural' way, she had termed it. As Cella walked through the rows she tried to imagine them growing wild, untamed, snaking out along the ground as she supposed they would do if not trained to climb the stakes. She was so absorbed in her daydreams that she was completely unprepared for the hand from behind when it clamped over her mouth. Another hand caught and trapped her wrists and held them in front of her.

More disgusted with the feeling and flavor of the fleshy hand than truly frightened, Cella bit down hard and tasted blood. The owner of the hand screeched and delivered a stunning blow to the side of her head by butting her with his own hard skull. She saw stars but remained upright and did not loosen her jaw's grip on her victim.

He bellowed in pain and aggravation as he tried to wrench free, but she would not let go, even though the taste of his blood in her mouth made her feel sick. Finally he let her hands loose so he could pry her jaw open and release himself. After hurling her to the ground, he loomed over her for a heartbeat and then, as if by magic, he was lifted into the air by some unseen force and thrown into the grape-vines, sailing head over heels and landing with an agonized wail of pain.

"Avo visto." [Do not move] A thrill ran through her at the sound of the familiar voice. "Be still," he added in Common Tongue. Like a shadow that suddenly materialized into flesh, he stood before her. Cella could not have moved a muscle in her body even if she had desired to. Her relief from the unlooked-for rescue, combined with the nearly overwhelming fear she felt toward her rescuer, caused her to feel weak in every extremity.

"Avo 'osto." [Do not be afraid] The Elfking's voice softened in tone, but Cella's heart still hammered as he knelt and helped her to sit up straighter with his hands on her forearms. She shook for a moment longer, and then felt calmer as if she drew strength from his grip on her.

He scanned her face and upper body quickly but did not release her; his hands were gentle in their grasp on her, supportive. She jumped when she heard a commotion coming from the area beside them where he had thrown her attacker, but the monarch did not seem to pay any heed to the noises of struggle amongst the vines. His eyes, which appeared able to absorb every beam of available moonlight to reflect it back, stayed upon her.

"Do not worry; your attacker is being... attended to... by Nandirn."

There was silence in the vines. The Elfking's voice remained calm, but an icily threatening tone entered when he added. "And he will be dealt with later, by me." Cella felt able to move again, and tried to pull away from him slightly, only to feel his hands grip her arms.

"Be still," he repeated, a bit more sharply. She felt afraid again and when tears filled her eyes, she turned her head away and batted her lashes furiously in order to keep them from falling and shaming her. But she did not try to move again.

His hand moved slowly up to the shoulder she had landed on when her attacker pushed her, his fingers traveled over the abraded area gently and then back down to her elbow. Everywhere he touched her, whether the skin was bare or sleeve-covered, she could feel a warm tingling sensation and then nothing, no more pain. Then he touched her head where she had been hit, and though she winced when his fingers found the tender raised area, she remained still.

This time, there was a prickling sensation that seemed to move over her head until it covered her entire scalp, and then the throbbing ache eased. The Elfking stood and took one of her hands to draw her to her feet before he crouched back down in front of her. Now his hands grasped onto her waist and she jerked involuntarily at the intimate way they held her.

"Avo visto," he repeated, but softly now. Obediently, Cella stayed still as his hands moved over her hips and down her to her thighs. She could feel the heat his fingers emitted through the woolen fabric of her skirt, as if it was not even there as a barrier between his touch and her bare flesh.

One of his hands lingered over the sore part of her thigh that she had landed on after being thrown. It had smarted with pain immediately when she had stood up. She felt his fingers pressing into her flesh there, and she closed her eyes with embarrassment although her gratitude was boundless as the discomfort melted away beneath his touch.

"Th... thank you," she stuttered weakly. And then, after a deep breath, she tried again, "Le hannon, Your Majesty." As he continued to move his marvelous hands down her trembling legs, to her knees, and over her calves, he told her that she should be grateful to Nandirn for watching out for her and to her uncle for asking him to do so.

Cella's eyes flew open at his words. The Elf had removed his hands away from her legs and she found she could think a bit more clearly.

"Does my uncle know that I...?" But she could not continue. The idea of her uncle being afraid, or worried about her, sank in and touched her heart. She found she was more horrified at the thought that he had learned of her foolhardy behavior from Nandirn than she was upset about being attacked.

"Not as yet," the Elfking answered as he stood. "But I suggest that you tell him because he will find out." Cella looked up into his handsome face and drew in her breath as he smiled down at her; his eyes seeming to shine with an inner light of their own.

Her trembling stopped, and, for a moment, she felt as light as a feather floating through the air. She did not know if this meant that she was completely numb from fear, or if she was just no longer afraid at all, to be so near to him.

"Run along home, Celiel," he prompted her gently.

She turned and ran.

t b c


	7. Chapter 7

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 7

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

ssss ssss ssss ssss

Cella arrived at the grape-pressers' changing area late the next day, escorted by Uncle Dwain, only to find that the place was deserted except for Lanthiriel, who was hanging up fresh garments delivered from the laundry.

After she had apologized to the understanding Elleth, and quickly changed her clothes, she was sent out to the vintner's shed where she was told she would find the rest of the pressing-crew. She walked there alone, worried about drawing attention to herself by arriving so far behind schedule, and hoped they would not all stare at her, or ask her a lot of questions. To her relief; no one did either.

The pickers had not yet come back from the fields with that day's crop. While they waited, the other women and Ellith, using buckets, were helping Cella's uncle and the Elven vintners pour the strained juices from the first day's pressings into the fermentation barrels. Her Uncle Dwain was in his glory as he demonstrated for the Elves his methods for blending the different juices as well as how he determined the amount of yeast or sweetener that should be added to each mixture.

She mumbled apologies to her fellow workers for being late, and wondered how much they knew about the previous night's events. There were a few cautious sideways glances cast her way, but mostly everyone kept busy at their task. One of the Elf-vintners cheerfully handed her a small oak bucket and directed her to a particular vat.

Milda and Ingarde sidled up to her as she removed the cloth cover from the top of the container in which the juice had been resting for the last couple of days, so that she could inspect the level of the contents as it was emptied. It was a comfort to have the women near her, as they waited for their turn to hold their buckets under the spigot. Cella suspected by the way they did not look directly at her that they must know, or suspect, something unusual had happened to delay her. But they remained silent, and she was grateful.

Stifling yawns as she carried her bucket from the vat to the barrels, Cella felt as if she had not slept at all, even though she had been startled awake by her uncle at some point before the day-break horns began to call.

She had not gone to her bed too much later than usual, despite the attack and its immediate aftermath. But, even after taking a warm bath, she had been too excited to fall asleep right away. As she lay awake in the dark, she had spent most of the night recalling, over and over, every moment of the rescue. Starting with after she had been thrown to the ground, and felt certain she was about to be harmed, if not killed by her attacker, she would picture how the Elfking had lifted and thrown the man into the grapevines.

Then she would run her hand over her shoulder, or touch her hip, as she remembered being healed by the shining-eyed Elf monarch. Thrills ran through her at the memory of his large strong fingers pressing delicately into her flesh. And the way he smiled at her afterward, as if she was something more than an insignificant being in his vineyard.

But after a while she felt more and more remorseful about her own foolish behavior and for a time she wallowed in guilt. She berated herself mercilessly for causing a disruption in the Elfking's vineyard. She knew he must have had more important concerns to attend to than a moon-struck maiden in distress. When she was finished torturing herself with that, she wondered how she would ever bring herself to even peek at his face if she saw him again.

For quite some time, she tossed and turned, wept and burned, as she realized she would never be able to look him in the eyes, ever again. Not that she had ever been able to do so before that night. That made her feel even sadder, how she had never taken the opportunity to stare at him to her heart's content before she had embarrassed herself so thoroughly.

And yet even so, she tried to image his face when he had smiled down at her, and his moonlit hair that had looked like a shimmering silver waterfall as it spilled over his shoulders. For some reason, it calmed her to remember that, as she lay in the dark, and she began to relax. But then a question floated up from some hidden place within her mind and lifted her back into wakefulness.

What if the Elfking was so disgusted with such a bothersome human that he sent both her and her uncle away, and they had to beg for food and shelter? Or worse, what if he went back home to his Forest Kingdom? Back to where foolish mortal women did not traipse around unescorted in vineyards when bad'uns were out and about? She had buried her face in her pillow and sobbed.

After being wakened by her uncle before dawn, Cella craved returning to that same pillow, but he reminded her that she was going to be wanted in the great hall for questioning soon. They had been informed that His Majesty had sent messengers in the night to the local constabulary of the Long Lake Town. They were expected to arrive shortly after daybreak to take the man who had grabbed her into their custody. She rose and dressed numbly. At least her body was not stiff and aching on top of all of her other worries.

Sitting at their breakfast table, she found she could not lift her eyes to Uncle Dwain for the shame she felt about her part in bringing this trouble into their lives. He had forgiven her the night before, after hearing the story of her impulsive walk in the moonlight to listen to the whispering grape leaves. She had not mentioned the unhappy Wood-elves with their odd notions about plants being grown unnaturally.

"I can't blame you, child," her uncle had told her reassuringly. "You've more grape-juice in your veins than blood, that's a natural fact; you can't be blamed for hearing the call of the vines." He seemed almost proud of her, especially when he recounted to her what he had been told of her attack by the Elfking and Nandirn. She could not bring herself to speak about it, but he seemed to know as much as she did.

Her uncle had not been at their house when she arrived after running back at the Elfking's command. She had flown as fast as her legs could carry her through the moonlit vineyard, as if running a race, and then through the back gate, slamming it behind her with a loud clang. Their window shutters were open, revealing a dark and still-deserted interior.

She did not know what had compelled her to run so swiftly that she panted breathlessly when she finally reached her destination. Was it her fear of encountering another attacker in the dark or did it have something to do with the way she felt when she had at last looked into the eyes of the Elvenking?

All she knew was that her legs felt as quick and strong as they had when she was a little girl. As Cella ran, she felt glorious, as if she could have sped all the way to the Lonely Mountain without effort. All of her muscle soreness and pain, not just where she had been injured by her attacker, was gone from the previously leaden limbs.

However, the Elfking's healing touch had done more than just ease her discomfort; she felt an energy pulsating through her that had propelled her forward so that she almost felt that she could take off from the ground and soar through the air. For a time, she stood with her back against the gate until her heart slowed and her breathing returned to normal before entering the empty home.

But, she had only just put her hand on the door handle when a worried Uncle Dwain came around the corner with Thaladir close behind. The silent seneschal gave her more than his usual quick cursory glance as her uncle embraced her in relief. Seemingly satisfied with her overall appearance, while she assured both of them that she was not hurt, the tall stern-faced Elf nodded, and took his leave after bidding them a good rest.

It was after she hurriedly confessed to her uncle about her foolhardy behavior that he told her what he had already learned from Nandirn and the Elfking. For a while, he did all the talking as they sat outside on the veranda in the dark.

As it so happened, Nandirn had heard Cella open the gate from where he was positioned in the main corridor, just outside of her view near the entry to their home. He had investigated immediately and was on his way to the seneschal's chambers to report her wandering off and seek further counsel in the matter from her uncle. But he did not reach his destination.

Instead, he encountered the Elfking on his way. Nandirn told the monarch that he had been charged with seeing Cella to her door, and not to keep her under surveillance after that, but only to prevent any one from the main house from coming near to her as she slept. He had not received any orders to follow her out the gate.

Whatever decision needed to be made, and by whom, was forgotten when the Elves heard the commotion in the grapevines and investigated without hesitation.

"His Worship says you had your teeth sank clear to the bone in that filthy brute's paw." Her Uncle Dwain had actually chuckled as he talked of it, even though Cella shuddered at the memory.

"Filthy, ugh!" she spat out. "That hand did taste filthy." She paused as she finally allowed herself to recall the moment. "It made me mad that he put it on my mouth." As she spoke, she realized just how unafraid she had been when she bit her attacker. Her uncle shook his head but beamed delightedly. "His Highness says you showed a lot more spirit than he thought you had in you."

For a moment, Cella had felt a little proud of herself for fighting back, but she also felt sorry that she had ever opened the gate. Before she had gone to bed, she promised her uncle, again, that she would listen to his words of caution with even more respect than ever she had before now. But now that it was morning, it was time to cope with the problems she had caused.

ssss ssss ssss ssss

The Sheriff of the Long Lake area was a large, kindly, white-haired gentleman with a bushy mustache who smiled at Cella with warm brown eyes and asked her very few questions. He recognized the 'miscreant' -- as he termed the man who had attacked her. He was a local troublemaker whose name was Gorst, although never before this had he been know to do anything violent. He was mostly just lazy and loutish.

According to Gorst's own story, he had been informed by the seneschal in the evening that his services were not needed at the vineyard and he was asked to leave the premises. Somehow he had learned that his dismissal was due to Uncle Dwain's recommendation to the Elfking.

Meekly, he insisted that he had come to their residence to speak to Dwain, as a fellow human, and plead for a second chance. He had seen Nandirn waiting in the corridor so he had gone back out the front entry and around to the other side of the main house, to try entering through the back gate. When Cella emerged, he had stayed still in the dark, hidden from her view, because, he swore, he did not want to startle her. He claimed that at first he was going to wait for her to come back, so that he could politely ask after her uncle's whereabouts.

Even the kind-eyed Sheriff snorted with disbelief when Gorst declared that he began to feel concerned about Cella's welfare as she walked about unescorted in the vines, and had followed after her to offer his assistance. He had meant no harm when he had put his hand over her mouth, he figured she would scream if he approached her in the dark and spoke to her, and he did not want to draw any attention their way. He had restrained her hands to keep her from striking out at him before he could explain his intentions, which he promised were honorable.

"Gorst might be telling us the truth when he says he wasn't trying to hurt the girl," the obviously skeptical Sheriff told the Elfking, the seneschal, her uncle, and Nandirn. They had all gathered in the great inner hall to give their account of the night's events and to see that the prisoner was turned over to the arresting constables, who accompanied the Sheriff, and that it was all done in good order.

"However, that doesn't let you off the hook," the bewhiskered official added while glaring darkly at the cowering prisoner. "There's never no good that comes from lurking about in the dark where you don't belong and scaring innocent women-folk that way, no matter what the reason."

Her uncle also scoffed at the tale, but as Cella listened to Gorst's side of the story, she began to feel a little sorry for him. The Sheriff pointed out that even if the man was telling the truth about not wanting to hurt her, the fact that he had not immediately gone away after being ordered out of the vineyard meant he was trespassing on private property and that was a crime in any book. Elf or mortal.

Although at first Cella could only take brief peeks toward the Elfking during the proceedings, it was easier to look at his face again than she had imagined it would be. She grew bolder as the attention in the room focused mainly on Gorst instead of her and found that she could study the monarch's features almost at her leisure when he was speaking with or being spoken to by anyone else in the room. She committed everything about him to memory.

The feather-light feeling she had experienced the night before returned, although not as intense, but it seemed enough to lift her to her feet after Gorst had been taken away. She and Uncle Dwain were cordially dismissed to go about their usual business.

With a relieved bounce in his step, her uncle escorted her to the pressing station before hurrying off to the vintner's shed. It made her happy to see the gleam of anticipation that lit his eyes when he realized that the business with the local law officers was over and his day could truly begin.

ssss ssss ssss ssss

It was not until the pressers were seated together in the dining-tent for the mid-day meal that Milda and Ingarde teamed up on Cella and demanded answers. Some of the lunching field-workers were overheard gossiping about the hired hands who had been dismissed the day before, and no one was sad to see any of them go. And others were talking about Gorst being taken away in the constable's wagon, by order of the Long Lake Town Sheriff, that very morning.

"We figure you have to know something, because your uncle's such good friends with all those overseer Elves," said Milda.

"And because you were both late getting to work today, and not one of them Elves seemed the least bit bothered," added the shrewd Ingarde.

Cella found she could not put it off any longer and quietly told them just enough to satisfy their curiosity. She reported that Gorst had been trespassing and hid outside of their gate the night before, while waiting for her uncle. She told how she had walked out into the vineyard by herself and been frightened by him. The women were pleased to hear that Nandirn had been on hand to take the lurking man into custody on the spot.

"The Sheriff had some questions for me today, is all," she finished matter-of-factly to her appreciative audience, who were awed enough by her tale without having to hear about the attack or the rescue, or the Elfking's eyes. They both agreed that Cella would have faced certain death if not for the presence of the vigilant Nandirn, their hero.

In the end, the women decided that Gorst must have been hired on the same day as the rude woman who had pretended to injure her ankle. They were probably related to one another, they concluded. Cella just shrugged at their speculations and was thankful that they had no more questions for her.

After the three women got up to leave the dining-tent, it was difficult for Cella to keep a straight face. The corners of her mouth twitched as she imagined what Milda and Ingarde's reactions would have been if she had told them the whole story, with the Elfking included, and especially about the way he had put his hands on her. But when they came into the brilliant autumn sunshine she realized there was no good reason not to smile. So she did.

t b c


	8. Chapter 8?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 8

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

For the next couple of days, Cella had but a few chances to see the Elvenking and then usually from a distance. Almost always it would be in passing, and she might only catch a glimpse of his profile, or the back of his head, but that was good enough for her. She glanced away if he turned in her direction. It was best when he was walking and talking with others, usually Elves, or sometimes with her uncle or other men who worked in the vineyard. At those times, she could take full advantage of drinking in the sight of him. She was never going to miss the opportunity again.

The wine-making operation was moving along without delay, while the grapes were still being picked, and no one had much time for standing idle. At night when she got into her bed, she was too exhausted to lay awake and think about her rescue, or what happened after, even though she wanted to and would try. Instead she would drift instantly off to sleep. But during the day, without reason or warning, the sound of the Elfking's voice, the image of his face, or the way his hands had felt, would seem to invade her mind at odd times, perhaps while she swished her feet around in the pans at the foot-washing station, or rolled an empty barrel to the vintner's shed.

At those times, she would feel so guilty that she would furtively peek around to see if anyone had noticed, because she was sure that the giddy inner effect these recollections were having on her was printed on her face. Staring at the Elfking when the other pressers were nearby was easier than coping with the tantalizing memories while she was working. It helped that no one ever noticed her staring because everyone else stared at him, too. He was such a striking figure as he strode purposefully from place to place that everything would come to a standstill at those rare times when they were graced with his commanding presence.

However, it would not do to stand still in awe when there was work to be done and no Elfking around to distract the other pressers. At first, Cella tried to push the unasked for thoughts from her mind by telling herself that she was old enough to know better than to have such fancies about an Elf, any Elf. And especially a royal one. Or to have such unobtainable desires for... she was not willing to think about what she desired; only that it was not healthy to do so. But none of her lectures worked, she only thought of him more, not less, as she tried as hard as she could not to.

No one seemed to notice her temporary lapses in attention; no one had time to notice anything but the business at hand. The big push was on in the vineyard to harvest the rest of the crop before the last of the fruit over-ripened on the vines. And, at the same time, there was just as much of a need to empty the resting vats of their contents to begin the fermentation of the new wine, not to mention pressing the grapes as they were loaded. As usual, at least in Cella's experience, there were not enough hands to do all the work, and yet all the work was done.

And the grapes just kept coming.

Her uncle's delight at the sight of the healthy, bountiful vines from the first day they had arrived had only grown into awe. At nightfall, as the two sat before the fire, weary from the day's efforts, he had some new tale to tell of the fascinating ways of the Elven approach to agriculture. Cella learned that he was well aware of the unhappy Elves who avoided the vineyard because they did not agree with the deliberate manipulation of the grape-vines. She was surprised to find out that he was in agreement with them, in some ways.

"Every living thing has feelings, child," he told her. "So naturally every thing must be treated with respect. A good grower does whatever it takes to make sure the vines are fussed with no more than necessary. But if they were let to grow wild, they would not suffer a happier fate in the end, you see."

And of course, she did see. The grapes would never survive past their natural lifespan no matter how happy they were while they grew. They were the fruit of the vine and their destiny was to be eaten, and they were made sweet, and full of tasty juice, for that very reason. Whether by Elf, man, bird, beast, or insect, they were meant to be consumed. The vines themselves would start to curl and die as soon as the weather turned colder. She stopped worrying about them.

"Cella my dear," her uncle pointed out, "it's more likely the Wood-elves who turned tail for home were homesick and missing their trees out in this wide-open space, than overly concerned with the way to grow grapes."

Those who had not turned tail, and who had shown an eager interest in learning agricultural skills, were more than quick studies, according to Uncle Dwain. They seemed to have a feel for the vines that some men he knew had never developed in a life-time, even though they might have had daily contact with the soil, air, sun, pests, and the plants themselves. The Elves seemed to be born with such knowledge, and needed very little teaching in the ways of pruning and thinning or pest control.

The soil in this northern region was rich and nearly clay-free, and the rains fell at normal levels, so the vines took root swiftly and grew well with little effort. But, Uncle Dwain still marveled at the juice-content of the fat, well-formed grape clusters. Whatever magic the Elves possessed was certainly visible in the way the plants performed for them.

They learned that many years prior to the Elfking purchasing it, the vineyard had been owned and operated by a local family. The original owners had fled in fear while Smaug was proprietor of the Lonely Mountain and making frequent fiery forays around the countryside. The Elves' first year's crop had been planted on only about a quarter of the available acreage. Even now, there were still many more acres left unplanted, however as there were not enough field-workers on hand to cope with the current crop, no plans were being made to expand any further. This, according to Uncle Dwain, was just as well.

"More attention needs to be paid to their vint'ry skills, now that the Elves've got the growing part down, if they ever want to make something of this place." The wine they had been given in the complimentary barrel had finally been uncorked, and he had pronounced it flabby; a natural result of field blending, or not sorting out grapes that had ripened at different speeds from one another before pressing. This resulted in a sort of wine-stew, which was sometimes delicious, but not in this case.

He had not been overly impressed with the previous year's efforts, either, once he had finally had a taste of it. He made a sour face as he told her about it, and he declared he may have spat it out of his mouth if the chief vintner himself, named Faindir, had not handed him the drinking bowl personally, and waited for his reaction. Even after a longer aging period than last year's wine, it had been a bitter experience.

"They didn't age their cask oak a day, nor even a month, let alone 2 years!" he bellowed, once he knew no Elf was within hearing distance. Equal parts of eagerness and ignorance had foiled all the initial good intentions to produce their own wine, at least wine that was drinkable, according to her uncle. They knew enough to manufacture the final fermentation casks out of oak, but had used green, uncured wood from a few different local tree groves and the resulting wine fermented within them had neither backbone nor balance. It was not the worst he had ever tasted, especially for amateurs, but it could be much better, and he was going to see to that, personally.

The bewildered Faindir spoke even less Common Tongue than Lanthiriel, and Himbor had been sent for to help her uncle translate what he meant by such words as flabby, backbone, balance, and other terms that made up the unique vocabulary of the wine-makers. Cella had to giggle as her uncle recounted his floundering efforts to explain such simple-sounding words that often covered a variety of sins. And they meant basically the same thing according to Uncle Dwain, "It could have a lot better taste."

Because the fermenting cask's wood had not been either aged or prepared properly beforehand, the Elves' first wines did not have proper support from the critically important enhancement of seasoned-oak flavor, and therefore lacked backbone. Instead, there had been too much of the sap's aroma from the wood mixed into the wine's taste, which made it unbalanced.

Now, luckily, the natural passage of the years had solved the biggest problem for him here in the Elfking's vineyard. Enough time had passed since the massive fermentation casks had been crafted by the Elves for the wood to now be set up hard and well-seasoned, and the flavor, or aroma, of the wood's sap would no longer compete with the flavor of the oak itself while the wine fermented within it, as it had been doing.

Her uncle had shown the chandler-elves the difference between staves made with tight-grained and loose-grained oak, and which was preferable. Then he taught them how to 'toast' the wood within the casks, by scorching the insides lightly using only clean-burning bees-wax candles, which would release even more flavor from the wood and greatly enhance the bouquet. Casks that he deemed unworthy were broken up to make smaller vats or barrels, after salvageable parts were reused to make new ones, properly.

When Cella awoke on the third morning after her attack, her uncle greeted her with words that no exhausted vineyard worker wants to hear when the crop is yet in the field. "I smell rain," he said. She ran to the windows and even though the air had a noticeable chill to it, she saw clear blue sky overhead, and breathed a sigh of relief. There was still time to save some of the crop before the rain that would surely come. She did not at all doubt her uncle's nose

The irony of the situation was not lost on the two immigrants from the drought-stricken inland region, but they did not let that fact slow them in their determination to help save the Elvenking's grapes today. Once they had hurried through their breakfast and set out toward their working areas, Cella could see the line of dark clouds in the north. Her uncle placed his index finger in his mouth and held it in the air to test the direction of the breeze. "There is still time," he pronounced. "Winds are blowing east, that cloud line might miss us after all, but winds change."

The Elves had also sensed the change in weather, and all hands were ordered into the field, even the pressers, to gather as much of the grapes as they could in case the winds blew the clouds their way. A short shower or two would not do much damage, but a hard rain, with high winds, would batter the soft, ripe fruit and possibly collapse the stakes.

On the picking lines, Cella was allowed to supervise both Milda and Ingarde as she worked alongside with them. Her two friends soon got over their squeamishness about coping with the various insects hidden within the clusters that needed detecting and removal. When they began, an occasional garden snake that slithered by within view would cause squeals. By mid-day a whole nest of serpents could have traveled over their feet and they would not have flinched, so intent were they on saving as much of the crop as possible.

However, it did not seem to matter how different or difficult the new task might be, the two women found it just as easy to talk while they picked. Cella was filled in on all of the "heard tells" that they had gathered, seemingly from the air, as they had not spent that much time apart from each other after they had said goodnight to her the previous evening.

"I heard tell..."one of them would begin, and then go on to relate some tidbit of useless but nonetheless interesting, at least to them, information. The other would soon counter with, "Is that so? Well I heard tell..." And so on. She learned which of the married couples were quarreling and why, the names of those who were still single but in some process of courtship, and of those who were only wishing they were.

She heard all of the latest revelations and opinions, often mixed together, about the fired workers, including their names, histories, and even some of their genealogy, if they happened to be related to anyone that either of the women knew. Cella nodded and smiled through most of this gossip, although she was more than a little on edge for fear they might ask her more questions about the night Gorst had trespassed and frightened her so badly.

But most of their speculations involved the storm that was coming, and how long it would last, and the likelihood that the Harvest Feast, which was to take place the following evening starting at sunset, would be postponed or cancelled outright. She knew they had both been anticipating the event with bright-eyed giggling eagerness ever since it had been announced. There was to be music and dancing and a bonfire.

For the past couple of days in the pressing vats, while everyone discussed the upcoming festivities, even the normally unflappable Ellith were smiling and nearly giggling as all of the veteran pressers reminded each other about the previous years' merrymaking, for the benefit of the newly hired. But Cella felt far removed from the amusing tales about the prior feasts and even further removed from wanting to participate in this next one. The idea of being around a large crowd of people during what sounded like extremely raucous events was not appealing to her. Milda and Ingarde had given up trying to talk her into going with them, although they both declared that she would change her mind. Which made her laugh, as she was sure she would not.

It was hard to believe a rainstorm was on the way during the early part of the day. The initial morning chill wore off as the brilliant autumn sun beat down heavily on the field-workers. Then the winds turned to a more southerly direction which provided an occasional refreshing cool breeze, and made the dark thin line of clouds take a new shape on the horizon. By mid-day they imitated a range of mountains in the distance with distinct rounded tops. The storm was destined to reach the vineyard before sunset. Any grapes left unpicked might suffer an unhappy fate, but there was nothing to be done about it; there were only so many hands available.

When the wagons came to carry the field-workers to the dining-tents, most of the Elves stayed on the picking lines and kept working while the mortals, needing more sustenance, were allowed to take a break and eat. However, as many of them were also willing to stay on and keep picking, plans were made to bring lunch out to the picking lines for them. The three women had no choice, they would be needed in the pressing vats now and had to leave.

As the wagon passed the remaining field-workers, Cella was shocked to see that the seneschal had given up his robes for more practical working clothes, tunic and leggings. He was acting as a picking supervisor for the vintner Elves, who rarely came out into the fields for any reason not related to turning the juice into wine. She wondered if Uncle Dwain would change his mind now about how "at home" in the vineyard the seneschal appeared without his fancy garb.

The Elfking had been nowhere to be seen out in the vineyard that entire day, although she had expected to see him there, if only to provide further inspiration for those men and Elves who were unused to manual labor, but nevertheless were needed this day more for their backs and hands than for any other special skill they might possess. She also did not see the gray-clad Nandirn, and she wondered again where he worked. She had not seen him since the morning Gorst had been taken away.

The clouds were getting closer and no longer resembled mountains seen from afar. There were brief gusts of wind now and then that sent any loose dry leaves scattering about in lively twirling groups. There was much speculation among the field-hands about the Harvest Feast and the rumors that it would be cancelled were immediately dismissed by more confident voices than Milda and Ingarde's.

Some pointed out that there was always the great dining-tent, a suitable shelter from rain, if it did not blow down first. Or maybe they could all fit into the Great Hall within the main house. This seemed the most desirable, if only for the sake of satisfying the curiosity of those who had always wondered about the Elves' living area, which was restricted from visitors.

"Cella's been inside the King's Hall," boasted Milda. "And I bet she can tell us if it's big enough for all of us."

Friendly faces turned to Cella, who could do nothing more than nod her head timidly at first. But then she was peppered from all sides with questions about the interior of the Great Hall. Not just about the size, but everything else about it, such as what it looked like, what was actually in there, how high the ceilings really were and how large the fireplace truly was. Most of the questions seemed motivated by previous imaginative guess work and fanciful assumptions.

As she answered them, there were many loudly whispered remarks from various workers to one another along the lines of "I told you so." Or, "I tried to tell you that, too, but you wouldn't listen to me." No one asked her about Gorst, the Sheriff, or the Elfking, so she gradually grew more confident as she reported all of the details she could remember and enjoyed the cheerfully respectful attention paid to her comments.

The other workers spoke with Cella as if they expected her to be at the feast. Instead of feeling uncomfortable with the idea, she began to feel regretful. She was sorry she had already decided not to attend the feasting, no matter what location it was to be held in. It was not so frightening now to imagine being in a crowd of these people and she began to wonder what it would be like if they were all inside the Elfking's Great Hall.

As the wagons pulled up to the dining-tent, the rising winds and occasional gusts were making the great pavilion billow and heave as it strained against the guy ropes that held its massive structure in place. Cella could feel sections of her hair being teased out of its braid by the strong breezes to whip around her cheeks and eyes. Each time she brushed a tickling strand away it felt like she was applying sticky grape juice to her face as she had not cleaned her hands from the picking lines.

She waited patiently in line behind Milda and Ingarde as they cleaned themselves with the buckets of warm water set on the table outside of the tent's entrance before going into lunch. After she washed the juice off of her hands and cheeks, she felt much better and now only wished to get out of her spattered, tattered old working clothes and into her clean, white presser's uniform; she looked forward to doing that after lunch. As she patted her face and forearms dry with a small, clean cloth provided for that purpose, she heard a familiar voice behind her and froze completely stiff at the sound.

"I can only assume that such good feet shall dance as well as they run." She braced herself, and turned toward the Elfking, dipping in a slight curtsey and keeping her eyes down, even though she had promised herself she would not ever do that again, should she have the chance to see him this close. Luckily she had carefully prepared and rehearsed a little speech, if she ever have the occasion to speak to him again, both to apologize for her rash behavior the other night and thank him for his rescue. To her relief, the words came flowing out easily, if a little too rapidly.

"Arad vaer, aran nín. Le hannon o guren...,"

[Good day, my King. I thank you from my heart...] she began, only to be interrupted in her practiced speech by her uncle's voice, who was also answering.

"Why yes, Your Worship, my Cella can dance, light as a feather!" Uncle Dwain proclaimed it proudly and then added a short history of the lessons he had given her in their parlor back home. "Only you won't ever see her out on a dance floor," he added regretfully. "You see, she's a wee bit on the shy side." Cella felt her face heat as she realized that the Elfking had been speaking to her uncle, and not to her, when he made the comment on her feet.

That, added with having to listen to her uncle discuss her good dancing but poor social skills with the monarch in front of the dining tent, was too much for her to bear. She had to escape. She turned to leave, before she said another stupid or embarrassing thing, when she felt a gentle touch on her elbow, and turned to face the kind eyes of the Elfking.

"Ha gell nin," [It was my pleasure,] he said. Then he smiled at her, right into her eyes, while Uncle Dwain continued merrily chattering away about how she would not even dance on the day of his head overseer's wedding, no matter how hard he tried to entice her, and even after they had practiced and practiced for hours on end beforehand.

Cella smiled back at the royal, unobtainable Elf and felt as light as a feather when she turned to float into the dining-tent for the mid-day meal.

tbc


	9. Chapter 9?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 9/?

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

Chapter 9

After the mid-day meal, only the pressers Cella worked with were put to work in the vat, while the other crew was sent into the fields to continue the hurried harvesting in anticipation of the storm. Those remaining in her group were stamping as quickly as they could, even though there was no expectation that every grape picked that day should be pressed. But there was a sense of urgency that permeated the entire vineyard and everyone seemed to be affected by it.

It was decided by the overseers that the extra grapes would be unloaded off of the wagons and into the dining-tent for safekeeping during the storm, after enough tables had been stacked and then moved to the side to make room for the racks of flat baskets. They would be safe overnight, as long as they were not too damp when left to sit. Even if both crews had been stamping they could not have worked their way through that day's extraordinary harvest effort.

Throughout the afternoon, there had been deep muttering sounds, and vibrating grumblings that were felt more than heard, following flickering flashes of light in the distance, which became more visible as the sky grew increasingly gloomy. By the end of the day, only those pickers who were within walking distance of available shelter were allowed to stay out in the fields. Most of the other field-hands were helping unload the wagons before the storm hit. The vintners returned to their wine-making.

The Ellith and women from the picking lines had returned to the pressing vats when the pickers were pulled back and both crews were pressing the grapes that were still being sorted, rinsed and loaded for them to stamp. The last rays from that day's lowering sun sent streaks of copper and pink across the gray boiling clouds as they swiftly covered the Elfking's vineyard.

The cool, moist winds blew harder, bending trees, and sending loose objects scattering in different directions. The last long golden fingers of sunlight touched the swaying treetops, before being consumed by the roiling mass while the sky darkened completely. The skies opened and water poured forth. Instant puddles appeared underfoot and were splashed through by the field-workers and other hired help as they ran seeking shelter. Tiny rivulets swiftly joined each other to become streams wherever there was the slightest sloping surface on the ground.

Although no more grapes were loaded now, the pressing crew did not slow down their circling march within the vat when the storm hit with full force. A few of the women were round-eyed with fright as if they were expecting a booming-voiced, flame-throwing monster to appear out of the clouds. The Ellith seemed unconcerned as dazzling lightning flashes were followed by claps of thunder, and their serenity had a calming influence.

But they were all physically unaffected by the storm's wrath within their cozy vat. It had built-in protection from the elements put in place. First, it was located under the spreading branches of leafy trees, to shade the pressers and the juice from the afternoon sun. Next, to prevent debris falling off of the overhanging limbs from getting into the vats, a large oilskin sheet had been stretched overhead and attached with ropes to the tree-trunks and to stakes in the ground. The flexible roof swayed and shivered, but it kept them dry.

The cleverly made water-proof screen could be adjusted to suit wind conditions. The rain was slowed in its descent by the leaves on the trees, but it still pattered noisily on the surface and ran down off the sloped side forming a wavering watery curtain as it was buffeted by the breezes. If anything, the interior of the vat was warmer than usual because of the amount of effort the women were putting into getting as many grapes pressed as they could before nightfall.

With sighs of relief, the women welcomed the damp misted puffs of chilled air that found their way under or around the oilskin barrier. Cella lifted her netted braid from her hot neck to feel the refreshing sensation flow over the damp skin there. No more grapes were being loaded into the vats and the workers on the outside, who were collecting the last of the juices that ran out of the spigots located along the bottom of the massive container, were complaining loudly about being soaked by the rain and blown by the wind, while the pressers inside remained dry.

"We have to get out of here sooner or later," said Milda as she warily regarded the sheet of water that poured off of their roof. "And we are going to get soaked to the bone in seconds!" The level of pressed grape matter below their feet was nearly flat, they were almost done.

"If we run," said Ingarde, "maybe we can make it to the changing rooms without getting too wet. We can put our dry clothes on and stay there to wait out the storm." Everyone forgot that they had to wash the grape juice off of their feet first, and the pans were located on the unsheltered side of the vat. There was nothing to be done about it, the rain soaked them all thoroughly as they quickly lathered and rinsed before dashing to their shelter.

The Ellith happily lifted their faces to the clouds and appeared to be more amused than bothered by the cold shower they received. None of them ran with the women. Inside the dressing room, the pressers crowded around the one window that was left opened, as it faced away from the wind, towards the south. The sky was streaked with bolts of lightning and the thunderclaps shook the shelter they stood in. From this view, they could not see the dining tent, or the other vineyard buildings. There was much speculation about the possible damage being done by the storm. The wind was blowing so fiercely now that as each brilliant overhead flash illuminated the surroundings they could see the trees were almost bent sideways.

Although the cloud cover indicated that the rain would last through the night, eventually the lashing winds slowed and the downpour eased enough that the women and Ellith felt they could make a dash as far as the dining-tent without facing too much danger. With Lanthiriel's permission, they grabbed dry uniforms to hold over their heads to shield their faces and hair while they darted around the puddles on their way to the monstrous flapping structure. They were only half-way there when Cella realized that her thin work blouse had become thoroughly wetted, and she resorted to wrapping her pressing garment around herself like a shawl. She was too embarrassed to even think about what the clinging fabric revealed of her body.

Some of the pressers were astonished that the tent still stood and they all 'heard tell' from those who had been within during the storm's initial onslaught that it had been a terrifying experience. As the strongest gusts were buffeting the stretched-taut billowing fabric, those caught inside all expected the straining guy-ropes to snap, and the whole structure to go sailing off into the skies. Some had run out into the downpour and were sorry later. The roar of conversation and laughter soon muted the raging storm as everyone had a story to tell about where they were, what they were doing, and what they did next, when the cloudburst began, and all at the top of their voices.

Cella laughed along at some of the funny stories while hugging her arms over her chest to conceal the revealing nature of her saturated clothing. Milda and Ingarde's blouses were as soaked as hers. But they seemed to revel in the attention they were paid by the men who were seated in a table next to theirs. She usually envied their boldness and wished she possessed a small measure of it at times, but not now. The men were not so bad, but they were uninteresting to her, compared with the Elves, who ogled no one.

The scent of the grapes that were stored at the back of the enormous tent filled the dining-area with sweetness. The harvesting had been nearly a complete success. Even the fruit not fully ripe had been gathered as their juice and skins could be used for blending purposes, as long as they were pressed separately so that the proportions could be measured. The Elves had been impressed to learn from Uncle Dwain that even the skins and remaining pulp from the filtered leavings could be used to make a potent wine cordial. None of the grape had to be wasted if care was taken.

There was a festive celebratory atmosphere in the tent that was enhanced by the closeness of the remaining tables to one another, making it difficult for anyone to move about between them without bumping into someone. And everyone was in a friendly mood as they endured the storm with one another. Even with the wind whipping under the tent wall and in through the door flaps, the interior was warmed by the amount of bodies within it, and Cella's own body heat soon dried off her blouse which meant she could abandon her makeshift shawl. She cast a searching glance around the crowded interior for her uncle although she was sure he was so deeply involved with his work in the vintners' shed that he was oblivious to the storm.

Despite the nasty weather the kitchen Elves had been busy and the workers were fed a hot meal. The sound of the storm reasserted itself as background music while the hungry workers ate. A barrel of wine was uncorked but there was no rush among the diners to try any of the Elves' vinegary efforts. But after it was learned that it had been purchased from a local wine merchant for the feast the next day, along with many dozens of others, a line quickly formed. There was enough for everyone to have a full drinking bowl and one was pressed into Cella's hands before she could decline. Although she was not forbidden to drink it, she had never enjoyed the taste of wine. Nor had she been bold enough to admit that out loud.

A hush fell over the crowd when the Elfking's seneschal, once again attired in his stately robes, stood and raised his own bowl aloft. He delivered a solemn and dignified toast to the workers for their impressive achievement that day and everyone drank, including Cella, who felt obliged to do so out of respect for the tall noble Elf.

She sipped at the bowl tentatively and tried not to make a face, but failed. Milda and Ingarde laughed and dared her to drink at least one more sip without puckering up her nose. For once, their amusement over her behavior did not hurt her feelings and eventually she laughed along with them after she tried again and again to swallow some wine without grimacing, but to no avail. She was mercilessly teased for being raised amongst wine grapes and never having learned to appreciate their finer qualities, but she found the idea funny, too, and gleefully agreed.

The lightning and thunder had passed on with only an occasional low boom to be heard in the distance now and then. The wind died down, too, but the rain pounded the tent and the occupants were happy to wait it out a while longer. The vineyard workers called this kind of downpour a "male" rain, the hard pounding drops of water would cause more destruction than not as they poured off wastefully into ditches and streams, as opposed to a "female" rain, which fell gently and slowly and soaked into the thirsty roots of the growing vines without any run-off.

"Do you know what the only good thing about a male rain is?" asked Milda with a silly look on her face. "It usually moves along and stops bothering you after spending itself, just like a man." Ingarde nearly fell of the bench as she shrieked with laughter but Cella shook her head, not entirely understanding. She tried her wine again instead, and made another sour face, which made both women roar even louder.

A group of Elves and men started to use some of the dinnerware as improvised musical instruments, mostly percussion-like, and began to sing some merry tunes that helped pass the time and lighten spirits even higher, if that was possible. Cella recognized a few of the songs, and sang along with a quiet voice, but mostly she just listened with appreciation. It seemed like she had never heard such beautiful music as now when her friends seated with her sang together, even out of tune. She was disappointed when her uncle found her and she had to say goodnight to everyone.

When they came to the tent opening, Cella paused. The rain had eased up significantly, but was still coming down hard enough to soak her to the skin before they could reach the main house. Uncle Dwain reminded her how when she was little she would say that she ran fast enough to dodge the raindrops and she giggled remembering how sure she had been that she could.

"But not tonight, uncle," she admitted wearily. "My legs are too tired to even try."

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance?" This time, the unexpected voice of the Elfking as he stepped from the shadows did not paralyze Cella. Instead she felt a rush of warmth from head to toes and back up again so she smiled at him and curtseyed. Afterward, she would never understand how she could have looked into his eyes like that without shaking or feeling the need to escape.

"Good evening, Your Worship," said Uncle Dwain. "Don't see that there's much you can do, exceptin' maybe using some Elf-magic to clear a path through the rain so I can get Cella to leave with me for home."

"I see," replied the Elfking slowly after looking upwards as if noticing for the first time that it was raining. "Very well, although I do not think I have the magic you seek, I may have something that will serve as a barrier against the elements." Before Cella could protest, the monarch removed his dark cloak, draped it around her shoulders in one graceful movement, and attached it at her neck.

"Your Majesty, no, you do me too great an honor…" she began, although instead of immediately trying to remove the cloak, she pushed her hands out from beneath it and ran them over the plush texture of the sueded leather. She grew heady from the scent of his body that clung to the inside of the garment. He reached behind her head and pulled the attached hood up and over her hair.

"But I insist," he said mildly. "It would please me to know you are protected." His face grew stern for a moment as he continued, "I would not have you risk your health and miss my feast on the morrow." Then he lifted an eyebrow and asked, "You are going to be at my feast, are you not?"

Cella could only nod weakly; her heart was pounding too hard to permit any form of speech. With a last dazzling smile, the Elfking nodded at her as he bade them both a good evening's rest and turned to proceed further into the tent. It was as if a spell was broken and she looked down in fear at the regal garment that was draped over her; the hem brushed the tops of her feet. She was certain she would damage the cloak if allowed to wear it out into the rain. Her uncle would not let her go back into the tent to return it, nor would he do so for her, and he chuckled with puzzlement over her distress.

"It's a good boss who takes care of his workers, my dear, we are lucky to work for him. You would insult His Majesty in front of his Elf people, too, if you tried to return that cloak inside." But she was still consumed with worry over the rich garment, what if some harm came to it between here and their front door? After they started for home she got over her anxiety as she began to feel embraced by the Elven cloak, which allowed neither rain nor wind to penetrate within its luxuriously draped folds, and she walked carefully all the way, savoring every moment.

Her uncle marveled at her change of mind about the Harvest Feast, but she merely murmured in agreement with him that it was somewhat surprising to her as well. And it was not only because of that elegantly raised eyebrow, she insisted to herself. To Uncle Dwain, she explained how much she had enjoyed the company of the other workers in the dining tent during the storm, and she felt less nervous about the idea of participating in a little more merrymaking with all of them the next evening.

"And like Milda and Ingarde said," she continued in explanation of her reversal, although when they said it to her she had still not changed her mind, "I can always leave if things get too close for comfort." She realized only now how hard it had been to leave her friends at the dining-tables tonight, and it had been very close in the jam-packed tent.

Cella removed the Elfking's cloak immediately after they entered their home but refused to hang it on one of the guest coat hooks that were located just inside the door. Instead, she bade her uncle goodnight and carried it to her room for safekeeping. She was not willing to let the precious garment long out of her sight and as soon as her door was shut behind her it was draped once again over her shoulders. As she made the hem twirl around her ankles while she turned this way and that, she could not tell in the candlelight if it was dyed gray or green, or a clever combination of both hues, only that it was a thing of beauty.

She had to leave it in her room while she bathed as she could not come up with a good reason to carry it along with her, and she was afraid of further wetting it now that she had finally gotten in out of the rain. Amazingly enough, the soft, dark suede was not much affected by its exposure to the weather and was barely damp to the touch, but she was not going to take any chances. She washed as quickly as possible.

After her bath, a still-dazed Cella sat on her bed with the carefully folded cloak wrapped in her arms. She refused to lie down and risk falling asleep before she had committed every moment she had been in the presence of the Elfking to her memory. She was not going to take the chance on any of this coming up to distract her tomorrow because there was too much work to be done. At least that was the excuse she gave to herself for such self-indulgent behavior.

But she had worked too hard that day to do the exciting events proper justice. She began to nod almost immediately and finally gave up, and gave in, and fell asleep with the cloak draped over her like a blanket.

tbc


	10. Chapter 10?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 10/?

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

Chapter 10

When Cella awoke to the daybreak horns, she sat straight up in her bed and said, "Le hannon, hír nín." [Thank you, my lord.] And then she looked around the room in confusion while rubbing sleep from her eyes. She could have sworn the Elfking was standing there, right in front of her, and she was... what was she doing? Handing something to him...?

His cloak! She looked down to see it covering her body and clutched it to her face to breathe in once again the fragrance of leaves and earth and sunlight that seemed to linger there on the soft surface. It must have been a dream. Of course, it was a dream. She sighed as she remembered the night before, and the way the Elfking had flashed that last dazzling smile at her.

Her uncle knocked at her door and she called out that she was up, awake, and, after she had grabbed her blouse off of its hook, getting dressed. As soon as she was sure Uncle Dwain was satisfied that she was at least out of bed and moving around, she carried the cloak over by the window so that she could see it in the daylight.

The color was dark green, after all, but so deep that it reminded her of a shady glade in a thick forest. She caressed the nap of the leather and searched the collar for any stray hair that may have clung there from the Elfking's regal mane. There were a few of her own there; she scolded them as she plucked them off for trying to spoil the looks of the royal garment, but not one of his. Although disappointing at first, it made sense that an Elf would not shed his hair the same way humans do, and that made her feel good.

At the breakfast table, Cella was in conflict. Should she leave the Elfking's cloak at home for safekeeping until he sent for it? Or should she carry it with her to the pressers' area in the hopes she would encounter him along the way to return it? What if he came here for it? What if the other pressers saw her with it? What would they think?

The idea of seeking entrance past the Elven sentries into the more guarded areas of the main house to personally seek out King Thranduil made her teeth chatter just considering it. And she would not think twice about handing it over to the spear-holding Elves who stood by the entrance for fear they might decide to keep it. Even though she knew no Elf in the vineyard would show such disloyalty to their monarch.

She could return it to the seneschal, who always made an appearance at various locations in the vineyard at the same time each day, like clock work. With a sigh of relief she told herself that was the easiest way to return the cloak, and it would work. But Cella discarded that idea immediately as she imagined approaching him; she was nearly as afraid of the tall robed Elf as she was of his King. And what would he make of the situation? Would he even believe her? What if he assumed she had stolen the magnificent garment? The responsibility for the cloak seemed almost too great, but she was in heaven as she worried it over.

And she was afraid to mention anything to her uncle as she was sure he would volunteer to take control of the situation for her, and she could not bear to part with the cloak, yet. In the end, she decided to keep it in her room and bring it to the feast that evening, where the Elfking was sure to be in attendance.

Just imagining handing the cloak back over to him, with a flawlessly executed curtsey and respectful words of gratitude, perfectly pronounced, made her heart flutter. But Cella was certain that was what the dream she had awoken to meant, that she was destined to return it to the Elfking with her own hands, and she was sure she was making the right decision. Now all she had to worry about was where she was going to get the courage to carry through such a frightening self-appointed task.

The Elves no longer provided escort in the morning to Cella and her uncle; instead the two of them usually walked together to the presser's area where he would say goodbye before he went along to the vintner's shed. Today they were met in the inner corridor of the main house by Himbor and he walked along beside Uncle Dwain while they discussed the violent storm and its aftermath.

The damage to the grape plants was not as extensive or severe as the overseers had feared it might be. Almost all of the stakes still stood, although many were stripped of whatever fruit had not been harvested as well as most of the leaves from the vines. But the supports had only collapsed in those places where runoff from the downpour had cut channels into the soft soil and undercut the plants, roots and all. Uncle Dwain agreed that a better system of drainage would have undoubtedly prevented that from happening, but he would need to see the area in question first.

The rain clouds had moved off and when the three of them stepped out of the entrance, the lovely garden area that bordered the Elfking's mansion seemed to glow in the sunlight, as steam and wisps of mist floated delicately from every thing that still held moisture from the rain. Cella was happy to see Milda and Ingarde were waiting for her on the landing, and they offered to walk with her to the presser's shed. Anxious to inspect the damage in the fields, Uncle Dwain bade her and her friends a good day and hurried off with Himbor.

Elves were cleaning up after the storm, mostly by removing broken branches that littered the pathways and roads. There were some more of them hammering on top of the laundry shed, which was missing part of its roof. Cella loved the smooth, efficient, and graceful way they moved about their tasks. They rarely appeared to hurry and yet every task they performed was done more quickly than by any of the men who worked beside them.

After spending time with the Fair Folk, she had come to believe that most of their legendary magic came from being able to do simple or ordinary things better than anyone else. Because they had so much more time to practice they became experts at everything they endeavored. Her uncle was certain they would excel at wine-making too, someday, once they had learned the basics.

Now that they had her to themselves, Milda and Ingarde proceeded to fill Cella in on some of the antics performed by the other workers the night before, shortly after she had left the tent. The partying had not lasted very much longer, but there had been some more joking and singing and then one of the pickers, on a dare, had tried to dance a jig on a table. Despite cries of caution about the slippery surface, he had fallen and had wrenched his elbow.

"You should've heard the commotion he made!" declared Milda scornfully. "He was blubbering and bawling like a big baby!" From the description of the injury, Cella's own elbow throbbed in sympathy, but she said nothing.

"Then guess what happened?" asked Ingarde, in a tone that indicated a surprise was coming.

"I can't think what," Cella responded, even though she assumed that the man must have been carried away by a cart during the rain-storm for treatment in the town. She did not want to spoil the story if she guessed correctly. Her vineyard-worker's instincts prompted her to mourn the possible loss of two hands and a strong back

"The Elfking fixed him!" exclaimed Ingarde in triumph. "He fixed his elbow back right." As she tried to describe what had happened, her hands made motions in the air indicating how the Elf's hands had moved over the injured limb. Cella needed no further explanation. She had felt those hands, and she knew what they could do. The two women, however, had always 'heard tell' about the healing power of Elves, but had never seen such a thing with their own eyes.

"And I've seen everything," declared Milda.

"Can you imagine what that must have felt like?" asked Ingarde. "To have those hands moving on your arm?"

"Or, all over your body?" added Milda in a low, knowing voice.

The two women squealed but Cella remained quiet. Milda turned to her and stopped grinning.

"Why, look at you! You're blushing! You poor, sweet thing!"

"Having to listen to such talk!" added Ingarde, although neither sounded the least bit regretful. "Shame on us!" They had reached the dressing room and stopped teasing her while they dressed. Today they did not have to wait for the pickers and could go straight to the pressing vats to begin stamping the grapes that had already been harvested the day before.

Cella had not wanted to interrupt Milda and Ingarde's 'heard tells', especially the exciting healed elbow story, until she was sure that neither they nor anyone else was gossiping about the Elfking's lending her his cloak the night before. She waited until she was standing with them at the foot-washing station before she quietly mentioned that she thought she might be attending the feast that night, after all. Her delighted friends clutched her and congratulated her on her good sense.

"I told you she would change her mind," said Ingarde to Milda, who was shaking her head in wonder. "Didn't I say so last night?

"No," replied the other woman once she had found her voice again. "It was me that told you she would change her mind after last night and you said...," but Cella paid little attention to the bantering voices beside her as she contemplated telling about the Elfking's words to her, and his cloak. But neither of them seemed interested in learning what had changed her mind because they both thought they already knew.

"'Course I knew you would want to come after all the fun we had during the storm! You were crushed and cramped all night and looked like you were having a fine time anyway," concluded Ingarde. And Cella knew that was true, for some reason it was not until she heard it said out loud that she remembered she actually had changed her mind about attending the feast long before the raised eyebrow. It made her feel better about herself to think she had not been motivated merely by a childish eagerness to please the lordly Elf while being cursed with a will too weak to decline.

Most of the talk in the pressing vat was about how the area where the Elves had planned to put the feasting tables that day was deemed too soggy and swampy after the downpour. The Harvest Feast was to be held in the dining tent, after all. Any grapes not pressed that day would be stored elsewhere. There was a tantalizing smoky scent that wafted through the vineyard from a great fire pit that had been dug, and covered to protect it from the rain, before the storm had hit and which now hosted an entire boar being slowly roasted on a turning spit for the dinner that night.

But the mid-day meal was ordinary fare and, as soon as it was served, the workers were urged to eat quickly so the tent could be decorated. There were Ellith waiting patiently outside of the tent's entrance holding baskets filled by bunches of autumn flowers or with branches of colorful leaves or bright red berries, which had all also been gathered before the storm had hit to decorate the outdoor feasting area. Cella began to feel excited about the big party, but still felt queasy when she imagined returning the Elfking's cloak to him.

Today, because of the feast, Lanthiriel dismissed them all early and the women descended on the foot washing station with a vengeance. Normally, when they wore long skirts, they displayed their purple ankles as if they were badges of honor. But today everyone wanted their legs to look as close to normal as they could make them. However, their best skin-reddening scouring could not perform that miracle, even with Elven-made soap, but they tried anyway.

Walking stiffly on stinging legs, Milda and Ingarde followed Cella to her door where she made them wait for her while she went to her room to fetch her dress. They wanted her to come back to their quarters with them to change clothes and prepare for the night's festivities.

After grabbing her one good gown off of its hook, she paused long enough to take the Elfking's cloak down from the shelf over her door where she had placed it, carefully folded, before she had left the house that morning. After she had petted it and held it to her face for a moment, she reluctantly placed it back. She was not ready to answer the kinds of questions her friends would ask if she showed it to them now. It would be safer here, too, and she would come back for it later.

Most of the single women were in a flurry of preparation when the three friends arrived in their common washroom in the main house. There was running water from an underground source that traveled along a trough along one wall, where they could wash. There were tubs, too, behind latticework screens for privacy, and great kettles hung by hooks on long cast-iron arms that were hinged so they could be moved within the washroom's fireplace hearth for heating the cold water for bathing.

While the three friends were washing their faces in the common sink with a special milled soap that Ingarde swore would give them rosier cheeks, Lanthiriel paid them a visit and brought gifts of colorful satin ribbons for each of the women. After the Elleth left, and they had put on their dresses, Cella sat on a bench nearby while Milda and Ingarde arranged each other's hair with the ribbons and then they both worked on hers.

"I have been dying to get my hands on your hair ever since I first laid eyes on it," declared Milda as she brushed the hair back from Cella's face and wrapped it around her skull in a tight bun. "How does that look?" she asked Ingarde.

"Can she see with her eyes pulled tight like that?" asked a helpful bystander. "Leave it down," said another woman behind her. "It looked prettier like that." She demonstrated by coming over and pulling the tight bun out and letting Cella's hair fall naturally around her neckline and shoulders. A crowd gathered, many opinions were shared, and a compromise was reached. Her hair would stay loose but a ribbon would be used to pull the hair back from her forehead and this was tied with a festive bow on top of her head. Everyone was pleased with the result.

From the direction of the dining-tent came the sound of the Elf-horns calling the vineyard worker's to attend the Harvest Feast. There was to be some type of outdoor ceremony first, according to those who had attended the previous years, while the sun set. After that, they would eat, and then dance. A bonfire would be lit, and it would be even bigger than planned due to the additional storm debris.

As the large group of women walked to the dining-tent, where everyone was supposed to gather, they could hear harp music being played. It was a soft tune that seemed to mourn the dying of the day. Before they had reached the rest of the crowd, Cella stopped dead in her tracks. The cloak! She had to go back and get it.

"Go on ahead," she told Milda and Ingarde. "I will catch up with you." With a pounding heart as she contemplated the daring return of the cloak she had planned, Cella ran as fast as she could, holding her hands over her hair ribbon to keep it from slipping off of her head, back to her home and into her room.

One last time, she draped the royal garment over her shoulders and giggled while she imagined wearing it back to the feast. Then she folded it carefully, and walked slowly out onto the veranda while rehearsing what she would say when she handed it to the Elfking. From the corner of her eye, she could see a large figure standing in her way, and she looked up happily to greet who she assumed was her uncle, come to escort her to the feast. But it was not. Startled, she dropped the Elfking's cloak to the ground.

This time, Gorst had a rag in the hand that he clamped over her mouth, and he shoved the greasy-tasting cloth all the way in when she tried to cry out.

T b c


	11. Chapter 11?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 11/?

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Disclaimer: I am only borrowing Tolkien's elves for story-telling purposes and am not seeking profit or glory from their use. Well, maybe glory, but certainly not profit!

Timeline: In the years following the Battle of the Five Armies in Bilbo's story and before the Ring Quest in Frodo's.

Summary: A young Dorwinion woman and her uncle travel north from the inland sea of Rhun to Esgaroth seeking employment at the Elfking Thranduil's new vineyard.

Chapter 11

At first, Gorst made Cella walk on her own directly in front of him, with her wrists in his grip behind her back. He held his other hand over her gagged mouth. But she kept tripping him up, for she dug in her heels and pushed against him every step of the way. For a furious moment, he had to let go of her hands and she had swung wildly at him before he had recaptured both of them and had them held in front of her instead.

Satisfied, he picked her up from the ground and carried her before him, draped over his forearm with her fists pressed up under her breasts. Immediately, his unlucky shins were given a demonstration of what two good feet attached to two strong presser's legs can do when they are allowed to swing freely and kick.

Although he grunted in pain every time she connected a blow, he otherwise seemed unaffected by her kicking, and she could feel that her heels were being bruised and banged up against his thick legs, but she would not stop. They moved through the soggy vineyard rows where her dress kept catching on the bared sharpened branches of the storm battered vines, and she could both hear and feel it being torn in several places as he wrenched the fabric free.

She could not see below his large hand over her mouth but she could hear his feet sloshing through puddles as well as feel the water splashing up to dampen her legs and the tattered hem of her dress. The moist smell of the good wet earth filled her nostrils and brought her back to her senses. Her blind panic and fear was replaced with rage. For the first time since he had grabbed her on the veranda, she could smell him and her nostrils were filled with the scent of fear dripping off of him. The stench enraged her even more at the thought of it covering her skin and hair.

But, instead of fighting harder, Cella stopped altogether and went limp. After he had traveled along for several paces without being battered by her heels, Gorst began to relax his stride and walk more normally. After a few more steps, she snaked one of her feet in between his knees, hooking it as well as she could behind one, and then yanked her foot forward, and almost had it twisted off from the bottom of her leg when he stumbled and fell on her.

There was a searing shock wave from her ankle, and then she nearly fainted when her entire leg was cruelly turned and bent beneath both of them as they landed together to one side on the muddy ground. The pain traveled from her hip to her toes. Her screams were muffled by the rag in her mouth and she wished in vain that the Elfking was there to help her. Clearly, sharply, within her mind, his handsome moonlit face appeared in front of her the way it had when he had arrived the first time Gorst had grabbed her.

But, tonight he was not there, and she was picked back up, moaning with pain as her injured leg was continuously jarred, and carried along further away from the safety of the vineyard. Gorst carried her down a hill and then through a drainage ditch where her feet trailed under the water and then splashed back up to the other side. Finally, he took her behind a small grove of trees that marked one of the boundaries of the Elvenking's lands, and threw her to the ground.

After she spat the nasty tasting rag from her mouth, and drew a breath to scream, she was stunned into a gasping silence when Gorst opened up the curved blade of a grape-cutting knife and held it in front of her face; his shaking hand made the metal flicker dully in the fading light of the dying day. Even as obviously afraid as he was, she had no doubt he would use it.

"You think yer too good for the likes of me, don't you now, darlin'?" He hissed, his eyes wild, then grew bolder and sneered at her. "Well just look at you now!" He shouted it triumphantly as he stood over her, laughing. "I seen you up there at the overseer's table, thinking yer too good to sit with the rest of us. You fancy them girly Elves, that's plain. I doubt they'd look at you twice the way yer all mucked up now!"

As he stood there mocking her, she sat up but could not move any further. Her twisted ankle felt as if it was being stabbed with a red-hot poker. She cried out when she tried to crawl away and was prevented because her entire leg throbbed agonizingly at the slightest motion. It made her feel dizzy and sick and robbed of every ounce of her strength.

Gorst knelt down and, after pushing her backwards onto the soggy turf with the knife held in front of her face, sat on top of her with all his weight. His massive thighs held her still beneath him as he settled himself down on her hips, painfully crushing her injured leg. Cella dug her hands into the muddy soil and wanted to throw some of it into his ugly lust-filled face, but she waited. She kept her eyes on the blade in his hand.

"Word around the vineyard is you ain't never had no man, is that so?" His voice was low, insinuating and stomach-turning. He held the knife to her cheek; she could feel the sharp tip gently grazing her skin and she closed her eyes. He pressed it harder and repeated, louder, angered, "Is that so?" There was a stinging sensation where the blade sat against her face that made her afraid to nod for fear she would puncture herself against it. And she could not open her mouth to respond, either. Instead, she kept her eyes shut and whimpered.

"I'll take that as a yes," he whispered with his face almost pressed against hers, his breath was hot against her cheek, and then he stuffed the rag back into her mouth and warned her not to spit it out again. She could feel his weight momentarily being lifted off of her and instant relief from the crushing pressure as he raised himself back up to a kneeling position. And then the skirt of her gown was pulled up to her waist, baring her completely. Desperate as she was, every muscle in her body seemed to have become rigid as she screamed again against her gag. Reflexively, involuntarily, her hips tried to jerk away and she felt the tip of the blade against her cheek poke into the flesh.

"Careful darlin'," the brute above her chuckled. "You don' want to make me scratch up this pretty face now, do you?" She went limp again. The knife was removed from her cheek and her eyes opened almost against their will. She had to resist the urge to lift her hand to touch her face where it stung.

"And I guarantee that you won't never look at one of them airy fairy folk again when I'm done with you, nor they at you...," he was muttering almost more to himself than to her while he unbuttoned his pants and withdrew his engorged manhood. She felt like she would faint again as she watched him prepare himself, but even as she grew numb she kept her eyes open for she could not stop staring at the shaking blade in his hand.

But his voice cut off in a soft grunt and only gasping squeaks emerged from his lips as the knife fell to the ground while he grabbed at his neck. His eyes seemed to grow wide with surprise, then even wider. Two other hands, large hands, were wrapped around his throat, beneath his own frantically working fingers, clutching his neck tightly from behind as he desperately tried to remove them. Then she heard a loud crack, and Gorst's head went limp. He had breathed his last and the Elfking warrior yanked the body completely away from her with a howl of pure rage before he knelt, plucked the rag from her lips and gently held her in his embrace.

"You came," she sobbed, pushing her face into his shoulder as he held her, "I can't believe you came for me." She felt sick. The earth and sky seemed to be tilting and rocking beneath and above her at the same time as she lifted her head to see his face, which would not come into focus.

"You called me," he answered in a matter-of-fact manner as he stood while he lifted her off of the mud. The shock of pain from her briefly dangling leg turned into a blanket of merciful blackness that covered her entirely. She woke briefly while he was carrying her up some torch lit stairs, and she looked up at him, awed. His hair resembled burnished liquid gold in the warm flickering glow; his face was grim and purposeful.

"You came," she said again, or tried to. Not much more than a feeble croak was emitted. The pulsing ache from her injured foot and leg seemed to fight against her as she struggled to stay awake and alert.

"Do not try to speak, you are safe now," he replied. "Soon you will feel no more pain." But she could not have replied if she wanted to, for a roaring had entered her ears and she felt as if flames from her foot were traveling up her leg and through her body. And then a cloud of gray mist seemed to engulf her and she knew nothing more.

Tumbling, tumbling, Cella felt out of control and was ceaselessly tumbling, no matter how hard she tried to slow herself and swim out of the mist. She could not reach the surface of complete consciousness, but could only touch upon it at times. There were muffled voices coming from blurred faces, all swimming above her, far above her, and she wanted to hear them and see them clearly, but she could not.

When her dress was lifted to expose the lower part of her body, she threw her fists wildly and felt them striking flesh before they were gently subdued and held down.

Her leg was lifted and turned; the pain made her scream, then sob. Then there was the warmth, the familiar warm tingling that emitted from those hands, as they moved down her leg from the inside of her thigh all the way down to her foot. Bliss.

And then those fingers pressed against her face. It hurt.

"Be still, do not move, Celiel," a voice was saying. But the friendly mists did not frighten her anymore, and she no longer wanted to swim out of them to listen to the voices or see the faces. She wanted to fall into these formless warm clouds that swirled around her so cozily and were lifting her now, gently holding her, and rocking her ...she slept.

She was lying on her side and before her face was a wall of dark green satin, or so she thought at first in her disoriented state when she awoke. As Cella followed the fabric up with her eyes she finally had to turn over to lie flat on her back. It turned out to be a curtain that was attached to a wooden canopy that sat atop four thick posts and covered the bed she was in.

Slowly, she raised herself up on her elbows but could not see anything of the room, except for a small area by the foot of the bed, where the curtains were drawn back on one side. Through that opening she could see a patch of blue sky through a window. The drapes made a soft sibilant whispering noise as the breeze moved them gently. Birds were singing and she could hear voices in the distance, and the normal sounds of the vineyard in operation. It was a new day.

A distinct noise from beside her, on the other side of the closed drapes, made her jump. Although a thrill of fear coursed through her, she stayed still, the sound had stopped. A soft rustling that indicated the presence of someone or something that moved briefly before settling down.

"Who's there?" she asked, but her throat was dry and not much came out above a strained whisper. But that was enough.

"Cella?" It was Uncle Dwain. The curtain was partially drawn away and there he stood, next to the bed, looking down at her, searching what he could see of her with his eyes as he clasped his hands together fretfully. "How are you feeling, child?" His voice was surprisingly meek and he seemed almost afraid to come too near her. She sank back down on the pillow and tried to reply, but only coughed because her throat was too dry.

"Thirsty," she managed. Within seconds he was pressing a drinking bowl into her hands, and she had to rise up to sip at it so as not to spill. Accidentally, his fingers brushed hers and she recoiled, splashing her hands and the sleeve of a sleeping gown that she realized she was wearing, but only after she plucked the damp fabric away from her skin while her uncle went to fetch a towel. She had never before slept in a gown with sleeves.

"I'm sorry, uncle," she said sadly but she could not lift her eyes to him even when he handed her a cloth to wipe herself with. "Where is he?"

"The Sheriff is here, they're all downstairs." Cella felt a spasm of fear and tears filled her eyes. "Don't worry, don't worry, child," her uncle reassured her. "They won't be coming to talk to you or bother with you. His Worship won't hear of it, not yet in any case." He leaned over her for a moment and she trembled without understanding why. "There," he said. "I set your drinking bowl on this shelf; now you can reach for it when you're thirsty again."

Behind her was a great carven headboard, with shelves and drawers. She had not even noticed it until that moment. As she studied it all the way up to its top, she saw that there were carvings on the inside of the massive bed's roof that arched overhead, of trees in six separate squares.

"Thank you, uncle. Please, don't go away," she added when she saw him withdrawing and the curtain sliding back into place. He left it partially open and she could see more of the room, although there was not much to see from her vantage point besides more of the window, small puffy clouds dotted the sky, and the far wall.

"I'll be sitting here, next to you," he promised her. "I have been all along." She knew that was true, his was one of the blurry faces that had swum above her, one of the muffled voices that had called her name and pleaded with her to hold still. And she also remembered, even if she had not been fully aware at the time, of how she had been repulsed by his touch and shouted at him to leave. And even though she felt ashamed of her behavior, she was not truly sorry for only wanting one pair of hands on her. She may have pushed Uncle Dwain away, but now she was glad he did not go too far after all.

After a while, as Cella stared upward not actually thinking about anything, she realized she was seeing the same tree carved above her, just repeated six times. But each carving represented the way that it would appear at a different time of the year and had something about it that was unique for the season. She recognized the simple words carved in delicate Elf runes beneath each representation: firith, [fading] iavas, [autumn] rhîw, [winter] echuil, [stirring] ethuil, [spring], and laer [summer.] Accordingly, the tree carvings went through every stage from nearly leafless, to bare branches, to snow covered, then with small leaf buds, fully leafed, and lastly, bearing nuts. The detail was a marvel. Her father, who had taught her the names of the Elvish seasons when she was a young girl, would have loved to have seen this, if he was alive.

From out of nowhere, a wave of raw emotion washed over her. She could feel tears behind her eyes, and a swelling sensation in her throat and chest. But she was afraid to give in to it for fear it would drown her, and she would never recover from allowing herself to fully feel it. Cella stared at the trees, noting every single tiny leaf, or nut, or tiny bird that sat on a branch, and repeated the Elvish words in her mind: firith, rhîw, echuil, ethuil, laer, and iavas, over and over again until the tide of blackness receded and she could breathe properly again.

"I am sorry, uncle, for how I acted." Now that she was fully awake she felt there was much that needed to be said. And she could not say anything because there was too much to say, and there were no words to say any of it with.

"There, there, I know you couldn't help yourself, brother-daughter. You were in shock last night, and revertin' to feral instincts, or that's how His Worship said it." But Cella barely heard him, for despite her intense focus, the lovely carved trees she depended upon to divert herself with had started to waver and blur. There was something else wanting to come into her mind; two eyes wide and staring ...she whimpered and turned over onto her side again, curling her legs up to her chest and pressing her fists against her eyes.

Cella did not want to see that vision. She struggled inwardly to replace the ugly picture with a different one, but she could not bring the Elfking's face clearly enough into her mind to block the hideous one out. And now there was another image to join it, a knife blade, shaking and glinting in the last light of the dying day.

"No," she moaned. "Please... no."

"Cella? What is it, brother-daughter?"

"Is the Sheriff here to arrest the king?" she asked, terrified to learn the truth. "Is he in trouble?"

"No," came the firm reply, but it was not her uncle who answered. Cella's heart lightened instantly and she sat up straight to pull back the curtain beside her head and saw the Elfking standing there. "I should have killed him the first time he touched you," he continued. "But I was advised to seek justice for you through the proper channels." He spat out the word 'proper' as if it was a curse word. Behind him, hesitating in the doorway, stood the Sheriff and someone else, who she could not see clearly, was standing behind him.

"It was good advice that, what your counselors gave you, my lord," said the portly Long Lake lawman. "Considerin' Gorst had never attacked no one before and we all had to give him the benefit of the doubt..." The man's voice trailed off uncertainly when the Elfking looked over his shoulder and stared across the room at him. Seated in a chair beside the bed was her uncle Dwain, but he stood now and faced the doorway.

"Just how did that monster get out of your jail yesterday in the first place?" he shouted angrily. "And get hisself all the way out here last night and attack my Cella, how did that happen? That's what I'd like to know!"

"Uncle, please, don't..." whimpered Cella as she felt panic begin to overcome her. She reached her hand out toward him.

"My good men, now is not the time or place for this type of discussion," interrupted a smooth voice she had never heard before, although she knew who the Elf was who was speaking as he entered the room, maneuvering around the bulky Sheriff to do so. It was Nandirn and his quiet voice and calm demeanor brought murmured apologies from both her uncle and the lawman.

"I advise you to take your personal differences elsewhere," said the gray-clad Elf. And then, to the Sheriff, he added, "His Majesty and his ... ward will be ready to answer your questions on the morrow, perhaps. Until then, I must ask you to leave. Neither of them are going anywhere, I give you my word."

Cella struggled to understand what Nandirn was talking about and how he could speak with such authority for the Elvenking. But no one else seemed surprised or offended.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," apologized the Sheriff. "When you feel better, I might have a few questions." he looked at the two Elves before continuing, "But they can wait."

"Very good," said Nandirn. "We will send word to you."

"Wait" commanded the Elfking as he reached into his tunic. He casually tossed a small pouch to the Sheriff, it landed in his hand with a distinct 'chink' that told of coins contained within. "I suggest that before you unwittingly unleash any more miscreants on an unsuspecting public, that you buy some new locks for your jail cell doors, and hire more men to stand guard." The man opened the sack and his eyes grew wide with amazement when he saw what was contained within.

"There's enough here to build a whole new jail, my lord," his voice was strained with disbelief.

"If you insist," replied the Elfking through clenched teeth. "Then by all means, build one. Better yet, build two. Just leave this room. Now." Nandirn gestured to the door and the man left hastily, after thanking the monarch and apologizing again to Cella before he did so.

"If you will excuse me, Your Worship, I have a few words to say to that Sheriff before he goes." With that said, Uncle Dwain left the room. Then the gray-clad Elf bowed and departed silently behind him. Cella sighed with relief once the room was empty and she was alone with the Elfking. All of her nameless fears and dreads were gone as long as he was beside her, and she felt safe again.

And it was not in the least bit difficult to look him in the eyes now when she smiled up at him. In fact, she could not remember what it felt like to be afraid of him.

t b c


	12. Chapter 12?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 12/?

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 12

After the men left the room, the Elfking spoke to someone just outside the door, but Cella could not hear what was being said. He turned back into the room and smiled at her, and she noted a touch of humor in his eyes, but his voice was serious when he spoke.

"There are some visitors for you here, downstairs," he told her. But Cella shook her head and shrank back down under the covers of the bed.

"I would rather not see anyone," she said.

"Ah, but I think that you should see them," he lifted his chin as he spoke. "They will do you good. I have sent for them." She sank further under the blankets, pulling them all the way up to her chin.

"What do they want?" She did not want to answer any questions.

"They have brought lunch," he answered, and then added in a brittle tone, with his mouth quirked up on one side, "They believe you may not be receiving proper nourishment in my care." Cella bristled a bit at the slur to the Elfking's character, but he seemed more amused than bothered by the charge. "They are correct in one thing. You need to eat to keep up your strength."

"I am not hungry." She realized that she was actually very hungry, but she thought denying it might work to deflect the possible visitors. However, he only shook his head.

"No, I will hear no more arguments." Even though his words were stern, his voice was kind. Cella did not feel scolded and yet she knew better than to answer back. He came over to the bed and pulled the curtain all the way to the edge. "I insist that you eat and receive your visitors."

When the Elfking opened the door, Milda and Ingarde entered. Nearly paralyzed with awe, they carefully stepped into the room. Their eyes were round and they turned their heads this way and that while they stared at every single thing as they inched forward towards her. Cella could not help but feel happy to see her friends and she sat up to greet them, if they ever would look her way.

Milda was carrying a small wicker basket with a brightly colored little cloth covering it, while Ingarde had a serving tray with a teapot and drinking bowl sitting on top that clattered softly, betraying her shaking hands. They both glanced warily at the silent Elfking, who stood with arms crossed near the door. But, the normally bold and talkative women were meek and tongue-tied now, especially when he stepped over beside them to assist in setting up the tray for Cella to eat from while she was lying in the bed. Their eyes were almost wild with fear at times when he spoke to them, or took something from their hands.

Cella wished she knew how to comfort them somehow, for they were so obviously frightened, but she did not want to say anything in front of the Elfking that might embarrass her friends. She knew that she had felt terrified of him, once, but now she was glad she no longer did. He bade them have a pleasant visit before leaving the room. Once he was gone, the two women relaxed, and finally found their voices.

Ingarde pulled the chair that Uncle Dwain had been sitting on even closer to the bedside, and Milda perched on the edge of the bed at the foot. As Cella pointed out the interesting features of the headboard and the beautiful tree carvings in the canopy roof, they respectfully admired the craftsmanship, but even more so her ability to read the "squiggled letters"-- as they termed the Elf runes.

"I never thought I'd live to see a bedroom like this, let alone see you in it!" declared Ingarde after a thorough study of her sleeping arrangements. Milda could not stop touching and stroking the luxurious bedcovers, linens, and drapery. They were both overwhelmed by the size of the room and the bed. When they were finally calmed down, they marveled at length about how healthy and happy Cella appeared, compared to the last time they had seen her, while she was being carried in the arms of the Elfking, the night before. The women grew quiet.

"You were here?" asked Cella, confused.

"We were just outside, downstairs," explained Ingarde, for Milda's eyes had filled with tears and she could not answer. "We were waiting for the Elfking to fetch you." Now Cella was even more confused, so the women felt obligated to tell her the whole story, from the very beginning, starting from when she had told them to go on ahead and that she would catch up to them.

She sat and ate, rapt with attention, as Milda and Ingarde told her what had happened after that, fighting to be the first to tell her everything, frequently stopping to correct each other and say it the right way.

"We came all the way back up the road and waited for you out on the landing," said Milda. "But we heard the music start to change and we..." she stopped because Ingarde interrupted.

"No, I said, 'we better go get her before the music changes, because I didn't want her to miss the...'"

"Oh, that's right. And then we went back to your house but you weren't there, Cella," Milda informed her, as if there was a possibility that she was unaware of that.

"We couldn't figure out how you got past us," said Ingarde. "Unless you had gone through the gate."

"But I said, 'Why would she go out the back gate?'" There was an argument about who wondered what first, and then they continued. As soon as they saw that the gate had been left wide open, they felt scared.

"So we went through it and looked out there, and then we saw them footprints in the mud," declared Ingarde in a voice so low it was almost a whisper. "My heart just stopped. I thought I was going to die." She put her hand over her chest to demonstrate how close she had come to dying.

"You thought you were going to die?" countered Milda. "And how do you think I felt?" She turned back to Cella, "I just knew it was that Gorst." The two friends had followed the tracks as far as they could, but lost them in the wetter, swampier areas and gave up their fruitless search. Then they had run back to find Cella's uncle. When they got back through her gate, they saw the Elfking there. He was picking something up that neither one of them had noticed was lying there, on the paving stones of the veranda.

"It looked like a blanket or something," said Ingarde. Cella nodded, understanding. The cloak was hanging now in this very room, she could see it on a hook by the door; at least she hoped it was the same one. "He said to us, 'Find her uncle. I will meet him here, tell him that.'"

"And it was eerie, the way he said it," reported Milda while Ingarde nodded furiously, clearly upset because she did not get to mention that first. "It was like he knew exactly what happened to you, and we never told him a thing yet!" And then, her friends fought to tell her first, he had disappeared through the gate. So quickly did he vanish, it was as if he was not there to begin with.

"But he had this look in his eye, real fierce-like," Ingarde shuddered a little as she remembered. "I was just glad I wasn't that Gorst." Cella had a feeling her friend had not been all that discomfited by the Elfking's wrathful appearance; she seemed almost excited about it as she talked.

After that, the two women had run to the dining-tent to find her uncle. Along the way they had encountered the seneschal, Thaladir, and their favorite body-guard Elf, Nandirn, coming in the opposite direction and obviously following after the Elvenking.

"Only, I don't think he's just a body-guard," interrupted Cella. "I think he's something more important than that." It was her turn now to impress her friends, who were willing to wait quietly through her account of what had happened earlier that day with Nandirn and the Sheriff, even if she was jumping way ahead of their story They were as mystified as she was by the Elf's apparent, but still unknown, authority.

After they had filled in the two Elves with all the information they knew about the open gate, the footprints, their speculation about Gorst, and their errand to carry the Elfking's message to Master Dwain, Milda and Ingarde continued on to the feasting area. Although each of them thought that one of them should stay and wait by Cella's door, while one went to find her uncle, neither was willing to be parted from the other, but they argued about it anyway as they hurried along.

The women had just reached the outer edge of the crowd of the vineyard's workers; men, women, Elves, and Ellith, who had gathered for the feast. Her uncle had appeared then, searching along the outer edges for his niece. They told him that the Elfking wanted him to come to the main house, but they were afraid to tell him why. He was puzzled by Cella's absence, and worried about her, but they told him that she was going to be there when they arrived to his home.

But Master Dwain, son of Dake, they were to learn, was a shrewd man, and not at all fooled by their explanations. As they followed him back to the main house, they admitted to him what they knew, from start to finish, only leaving out the part about their speculation over Gorst's possible involvement. He did not at all like hearing about the wide-open gate but when they told him of the footprints, he had taken off ahead of them in a full sprint.

"Right after we caught up to him, the King came through the gate carrying you, wrapped up in whatever it was he found, that blanket? And all we could see was your face." As Ingarde remembered the scene, her voice dropped down to a whisper again, and her face grew solemn. For a moment, she had to look away from Cella. Milda, seated next to her legs on the bed, reached out and clutched the one nearest to her.

"You looked so...bad," she managed to say before losing control of herself and weeping into her hands. Soon the tray was removed from Cella's lap, set on the floor, and all three women were sitting on the bed while holding each other in a mutually tearful embrace.

Cella enjoyed being able to comfort her friends more than she felt she needed to be comforted by them. She assured them that all of her hurts were healed. To demonstrate, she pulled her covers back and her gown up to above her knee. There was still an ugly bruise, but she promised them she felt no pain at all. They had no idea of the full extent of her injuries, but her uncle had told them she had broken her ankle and hurt her leg. Of course, they knew about the cuts to her face.

"Do you want to talk about it, tell us what happened?" asked Ingarde. Cella shook her head.

"Not yet, not right now." But even as she said it, she knew she wanted to tell them some of it, at least enough to let them know that even though she may have been physically injured, she had not been violated. "He never...he didn't... do anything." She felt them both breathe a sigh of relief as they exchanged grateful looks with one another, and knew that was enough for now, they would not ask for anything further until she was ready.

"You must have been so scared." As she spoke, Milda reached out a tentative finger to Cella's cheek. Her wonder at the Elvenking's healing skills soon replaced her fearful memories of how her friend had looked the night before; her body, limp and lifeless in the Elf's arms.

"Your face and hair was covered in blood and mud," she told her. "And you looked so pale. I thought your uncle was going to collapse." Cella put her hand to her face as she recalled the stinging sensation she had felt the night before. She could only feel a tiny line of raised flesh, as thin as a hair.  
  
"But the King just carried you past your door, and we all followed him into the main house. Only, they wouldn't let us past the big doors. Just your uncle." The Elf sentries held firm under Milda and Ingarde's most urgent pleadings that their friend would need them by her side. But, after a while, her uncle had returned and told them that Cella was going to be fine, her wounds were healed and that she was sleeping. For several moments, all three of the women were silent.

Milda and Ingarde returned to the rest of their tale and Cella learned, most of it now from 'heard tells', what else had happened when Gorst was dragging her away from the vineyard.

As it turned out, the two women had learned later from others at the Harvest Feast, the Elfking had just begun the sunset ceremony, a toast to the end of the bountiful season, by lifting his bowl to the sinking sun. However, for some reason, he stopped abruptly and cocked his head, as if he had heard something, handed his wine to an Elf standing near to him, and then had rushed away from the stunned crowd.

The music stopped, no one spoke. No one had known what to do. Everyone in attendance froze in place for several moments, as the sun kept going down, without salute. And then, or so they had been told, the tall seneschal had lifted his wine bowl and had uttered some Elvish words, that no one understood, at least none of those who related the tale to the two women. He then gestured to Cella's uncle, who gave a toast of gratitude to the sun for its life giving, juice producing, and vine growing assistance to the vineyard and a hope for an equally vigorous crop in the years to come. Then the two Elves, Thaladir and Nandirn, had hurried along after the Elfking. At least, that is what they had 'heard tell'.

After a few more moments, Cella's uncle had started searching for her in the crowd

"Wait," interrupted Cella. "Did you never go to the party?" Milda looked at Ingarde, and both of the women smiled at each other.

"We're getting there, just wait," said Milda. The women told Master Dwain to follow them back right away to his house, by order of King Thranduil, and that Cella might be in trouble. Some of the workers nearby, both men and Elves, overheard them and had rushed ahead to assist the Elfking. And then a few more had followed, prompted by the urgency of the departure of the others, if not actually sure where they were going, or why. And then a few more, and then more, and still more, until there was no one left at the feasting area. Everyone was at the main house.

"There was no party, Cella. The feast got called off after all, only not because of rain."

"Because of me?" she asked.

"No! Because of Gorst!" replied Milda; her voice sharp for the first time since she had entered the room. She took Cella by the shoulders, but gently, and said, "It wasn't your fault. None of it." They hugged and more tears were shed.

"Look at you," said Ingarde to Milda. "Who is the big bawling baby now? And we came here to cheer Cella up, or did you forget that?" Of course, it did not help that she was sobbing, too, as she said it. But, the absurdity hit them all at the same moment, and they fell back on the pillows, helpless with laughter.

"Your uncle," said Milda, as soon as she could talk again, "says we're going to have an even bigger party, when you get better." The news did not exactly cheer Cella, except that she was sorry that her friends had missed the feasting the first time, and now would have another chance. But she smiled and nodded and pretended to be happy, for their sakes.

She was not unhappy about the postponed feast hinging on her health, either; she was just not ready to think about it, yet. All of those people with all of their questions, or their staring at her, and wondering... Cella decided she would think about it later. When she felt ready. If she ever felt ready. Her friends did not pressure her to discuss it any further however, and were busily discussing how although the roast boar had been eaten in the dining-tent, it was a cheerless event. The two women were just getting warmed up with the rest of the 'heard tells' they had gathered when the Elfking returned.

Shamefaced, they leapt from the bed, but he did not appear concerned as he silently helped them gather the tray, teapot, and basket. Cella could tell they felt more at ease around him, since they had a chance to see and speak to her, and see how well taken care of she was. They left with promises to her to return the next day, before being stunned into silence when the lordly Elf granted them permission to come back as often as they chose.

Cella was happy that the Elfking did not move the chair by the bed back into its original position before he sat in it, next to her. She studied him carefully as he sat and regarded her; she never tired of staring at his perfect features. His green gaze was steady and his face was so serious that she began to feel worried.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"You had a good visit with your friends," was his reply.

"Yes, thank you for insisting I see them." Although puzzled by his answer, she did feel grateful to him. "It was good to talk to them."

"I believe so, at least for the time being." He stood. "Now, I must leave for a while, but before I do, there is something I must tell you." Cella froze inside at the word 'leave' and she felt fear begin to rise within her at the thought of him going away. She could not reply beyond nodding her head to indicate that she understood.

The Elfking drew a breath to speak and then stopped himself. He sat again, and now she grew even more worried as he took one of her hands into his large one, but was thrilled to have him touch her. And then he said the words that would change the course of her life, forever, "I am going to send you away from here, Celiel, with your uncle. You will both be leaving together, after the feast."

But Cella heard none of his words beyond 'send you away'. The sound of her heart shattering into pieces had deafened her completely.

T b c


	13. Chapter 13?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

(Please see previous chapters for disclaimer, timeline and summary)

Chapter 13

Cella tried to absorb the words the Elfking had said without shaming herself by bursting into tears. He was sending her away, just as she had feared he would. And how could she blame him? What kind of vineyard operator would allow such a disruptive employee, as she had obviously become, to remain in her position? It was only a matter of time, considering the various disturbances she had caused thus far, before he would tire of it. After all, she had no one to blame for her dismissal but herself.

And Cella felt she was at fault, too, no matter what Milda had said. She was the one who had left the generous monarch's borrowed cloak behind in her room all day, because she was too reluctant to part with it. If not for her frivolous plan to return it to him personally, at the feast, she would never have fallen victim to Gorst. That was her final assessment of the situation, and the part she had to play in it.

It was a bit surprising, and more than a little confusing, how the regal Elf broke the news of her dismissal to her in such a kind and gentle fashion, although she assumed that this was done out of respect for her uncle. And he still sat beside her, calmly watching her, with her hand held in his, although it provided little comfort to her. Regretful of her behavior, she indeed felt she deserved to be punished for her faulty judgment, but not her Uncle Dwain. To hold him responsible was highly unfair. She burned within at the injustice of the King's decision and drew a deep breath to steady herself before she spoke.

"I am sorry to have brought so many problems to your doorstep, My Lord, and I would beg your forgiveness if I thought I was worthy of it," she began. And then, she continued bravely, "Do what you must with me, Sire, but do not punish my uncle because of me, I beg you."

"Celiel, listen to me..." he began, but she interrupted him. Now that she had found the courage to fight for her uncle, she also found a bold voice that she never knew she had possessed, to contradict the Elfking with.

"No, please hear what I have to say first," she insisted. "It would kill my Uncle Dwain to leave from here, and he has done nothing at all to deserve this, except to work as hard as he can, body and soul, to serve you. Please, Your Majesty, will you please reconsider?" She squeezed the hand that held hers. "You can send me away, if you must, but not him." Before he answered her, the Elfking's face turned even more serious, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He shook his head tightly and patted the back of her hand as she slowly released her grip on it.

"I fear you are overtired," he said. "Or that you have been woefully and wrongfully misled by careless gossiping tongues. You have done nothing for which you need to be forgiven, and if any of your visitors have led you to believe that such is true...," his voice grew darker with implied threat. Cella realized he must be referring to Milda and Ingarde.

"No, no one has," she said quickly. "In fact, they said just the opposite." However, she did not feel comforted to know that the Elfking, like her two friends, did not hold her responsible. Either way, she was being punished just the same.

"Even so," said the King, "I will not consider separating you from your uncle." His tone was firm. "It is his dependence upon you, Celiel, and his understandable anxiety about your future, which has led me to take these steps. I insist that the two of you remain together. I would not have you consider this as punishment; your uncle will need to know you are strong enough to face your new lives together, as I believe you are."

As she listened to his final pronouncement, Cella's heart, or what was left of it, sank into despair. It was useless to argue with the Elfking, his mind was made up; there could be no further appeals. She felt she had dared too much already with her contradictions, and he saw right through her, that was clear. She bit her lip, let go of his hand, and turned her face away from him.

Oh, but how could she not think of being sent away from here as a punishment when she could think of no worse penalty than to be deprived of the opportunity to be near him? Or even of the chance to see him at a distance on occasion? But she knew that there was not enough courage left within her to allow her to say that out loud. There was not even enough left within her to control her tears, but at least he did not have to be forced him to witness them. She pressed her face into the pillow.

There was something touching her hair, then her face. With a start she realized it was the Elfking's hand...on her chin, turning her to look toward him as he stood next to the bed. "Do not worry overmuch for your uncle," he said to her. "It is not helpful to your recovery for you to worry without need. He is in agreement with my plan. Indeed he is one of the chief architects and is quite pleased with my decision. It will not be as terrible as you think, as long as the two of you have each other."

Somewhat dazed, she looked at him and tried to digest what he was saying, while resisting the urge to put her own hand over his to hold it forever against her chin. It was hard to believe that her uncle would not be sorry to leave the wine-making operation at this point. But it was difficult for her to think clearly because the Elfking was smiling at her, as he had done that night when she had first dared to look at him. A tiny thrill ran through her when his fingertip traced the thin line left by Gorst's knife on her face.

Cella felt that the light shining from his eyes had entered into her chest and opened up her lungs to let her breathe. The tears stopped. It was as if, deep inside, some part of her had finally bowed to her inevitable fate, stopped struggling, and decided to trust King Thranduil's judgment. If he said it was for the best, then it must be so. And that inner determination reverberated outward, and she relaxed, even if she still felt sad to leave.

From the open door came a sound as of someone clearing his throat, or perhaps coughing, but in such a way as to draw attention without intruding rudely into the conversation. The Elfking withdrew his hand from her face and stood straight.

"My seneschal's patience is being sorely tested, it would appear," he said to her in almost a conspiratorial tone, as if she were not just another dismissed employee of little consequence. And then, over his shoulder, he replied, " Le cenithon ned lû thent!" [I will be with you in a moment.] She heard a brief but proper response from the tall elf and, although she could not see him from where she was lying on the bed, it was apparent from his terse reply that he was feeling some amount of distress over the delay she was causing.

"Now," Thranduil said to her, "you must rest, I believe that your visitors have tired you more than you realize. I must not tarry any longer; there is much to be done before I return for my feast."

"I wish you good speed, then, Your Majesty." She almost smiled to hear that he would return in time for the delayed feasting, although she was not sure why he would inform her of that. Unless he actually cared what she thought of his comings and goings, which she could not believe was true. It was more likely he was warning her to be prepared to leave as soon as he came back. But why would he smile so kindly into her eyes when he said it?

Cella stifled a yawn; she felt so drowsy that she could barely keep her eyes open, but she was unwilling to close them as long as he was in her view. He bent over her again while his hand came over her face, not touching her, but she could feel warmth being emitted from his palm that made her lids close as if they had a will of their own, separate from hers.

"Have no fear. Sleep."

"Yes, Majesty," she managed to murmur as she drifted off. Everything was going to be fine, even if she could not understand how, and there was nothing to worry about.

This time, when she awoke, Cella was not fooled by the curtains in front of her face. And the familiar noise behind them had to be her uncle, snoring in his sleep. She wondered what time of day or night it was and sat up to look around her. As they had been the day before, the canopy drapes were pulled back at the foot of the massive bed. She could see that the windows were shuttered, but wherever there was the least little gap or crack for light to seep through them, a dim grayness filtered in to signal the arrival of another day.

The sky was still blue when the Elfking had made ready to depart yesterday, but she could not remember waking in between then and now. Was it possible she had slept for all that time? In all her life, she had never spent that much time in bed. She certainly felt well rested, and wide awake. The room grew steadily lighter as she thought over the events from the day before, and she began to feel anxious about how she was going to face her uncle. He had been so proud of his position here at the Elfking's vineyard and she was sure he must be devastated by the news.

Whatever inner alarm Uncle Dwain heard, that woke him before sunrise each and every day of his life, was in proper working order this morning. His snores halted abruptly, and she could hear him stirring.

"Uncle? Are you awake" she called out after a few moments, and braced herself for his response, certain he would sound sad or disheartened. She could hear him moving about and assumed he was dressing.

"Yes, Cella," he said. "You know very well that the sun can't come up without my say so." She smiled at his answer, a standard reply from her childhood days. But now, her smile quickly faded as she tried to imagine how upset he must be by her dismissal and the Elfking's decision to send them away together. It hurt to picture his face.

"I want to tell you how sorry I am, uncle," she said. "I know you were happy here, and I am so sorry that because of my foolishness, the Elfking is sending us both away."

"Brother-daughter, I think you are still dreaming. You have done nothing to feel sorry for." As he spoke, he had pulled the curtain by her face aside and stood above her with a perplexed, but amused, grin on his face. He did not seem at all upset by their imminent departure.

"You really don't mind then?" Even though the Elfking had suggested as such, she had not accepted the notion that her uncle would be pleased by her disgrace, and she was sure she knew his mind better than their royal employer did. But, indeed, he seemed perplexingly cheerful, as he answered her.

"Mind? Oh, Cella, you are a funny little creature, and why should I mind? Or are you still asleep and talking while you dream? I can't decide which." From the way he clasped his hands together, deliberately, as if to keep them under control, she could tell he was itching to reach out and touch her. Normally, he would have patted her hand or her hair by now. Sitting up, she reached out and took one of his hands into hers, the way the King had taken hers yesterday. His grin widened even further and she could see relief flood his features.

"I am awake, Uncle, but I guess I must be dreaming too." Outside, the daybreak horns began sounding their beautiful music. Long, thin fingers of brilliant sunlight pierced the tiny openings found around the edges of the window shutters. Tiny dust motes floating in the room danced and flashed like tiny stars within each bright ray. "I must be dreaming if you say that you don't mind," she added, "because that does not make sense."

"Make sense? It doesn't make sense?" her uncle sounded disconcerted but still cheerful, as if he thought she was teasing him. "Ah, so, you doubt the sensibility of His Worship, do you? His is not a will to be trifled with, my dear." He let go of her hand and threw open the shutters to greet the rising sun properly and declared, "This is a happy day, Cella."

She wondered if he was putting up this brave front because he was trying to protect her feelings. It was either that or she had missed a vitally important piece of information along the way, but before she could stop him to ask, he continued. "And he's right, you know, about sending you along. You have a fragile soul, as he says it, and don't need no more of these, er, how did he put it? 'Assaults to your fine spirit', that's how he said it."

"He said that about me?" She frowned, however, as the tenderness of such a spoken sentiment seemed contradicted by the actual suffering the regal speaker of it had caused to her so-called fragile soul already. "But, then why is he sending me, or, sending us, away?"

"Well, Cella, you see, it's this way." As her uncle answered, he sat down in the chair again, with a concerned look on his face. "We just think that this is no place for you now, without me here to watch out for you, and with such harsh memories and all...," he paused for a moment before continuing. "He is sending you with me because I asked him to do so, but if you don't feel you can adjust, maybe we should reconsider."

"Sending me? With you? What?"

"But, didn't the King tell you this? He swore to me he would tell you we were going to go together, Cella."

"Yes, uncle, he did say so, and he said you were happy, too." And now that she had seen her uncle's face up this close, she could not deny it was true. "Only," she added, "I still do not know how you can be."

"Not be happy? How could I not be happy?" He chuckled. "But, Cella, it is only your happiness that concerns me. We were worried you might balk at picking up and moving on so soon after we had got ourselves settled here and all. But like he says, it's for the best, child, to get you away from here until enough time has passed for you to have healed properly..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a brisk knocking at the door, and the sound of excited voices from behind it. It was Milda and Ingarde. They were calling out her name and then burst in, after her uncle called out to them that the door was open, with breakfast in hand and giggling grins on their faces. She was going to miss them, and she wondered if she would ever see them again.

"Your uncle told us the news last night, Cella." Milda set the tray filled with hot, steaming plates of breakfast foods on a nearby table as she spoke. "Could you just die? Aren't you excited?" Her uncle clapped his hands together and then rubbed them at the sight of the delicious looking spread, and eagerly pulled his chair over at her invitation.

"I know you have to be happy," added Ingarde, whose own tray had the inevitable teapot, and four drinking bowls, all of which she set out on the table. "Because you told me once how you always wanted to go see that place where them Elves live." She placed one of the breakfast plates on the now empty tray and carried it to Cella's lap. "And," she added, "I think them caves sound like a fitting place to winter in. The way these Elves have things figured out so well around here, I know they will keep you warm there when the snow flies."

"And you never saw snow fly like it does here," Milda assured her wisely as she brought some tea over to set on Cella's tray. As if she had offered up a debate point, Ingarde entered the fray. They both tumbled over each other's words as they informed her that now that she was living in the north, winters would be much different than they had ever been in her balmy southern home by the inland sea.

They described snow drifts that were head-high and howling winds that shrieked like creatures in service to the Dark Lord. She should consider herself lucky to have such snug, safe and secure accommodations to look forward to. It was not until the two chattering women had sat down to eat at the table with her uncle, and they were finally both quiet at the same time, that Cella could get a word in edgewise, although it was not that easy for her to speak.

"Just exactly where are we going?" They turned their faces toward her. "Did you say the caves; do you mean the Elfking's caves? Is that where we are going?" All three sets of eyes widened with surprise at her question. The two women looked at her uncle who was speechless for a moment, frozen in place after hearing her words, his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth. It clattered down now as he rose and rushed over to her side.

"Why, Cella, I thought you knew we were headed off to the King's forest. Didn't you know that was where we're going?" She shook her head, absolutely numbed by the news, and unable to answer him. "That Elfking," explained her uncle, "he is a smart one now, he wants to move his whole wine-making operation into those there caves, don't you know? Caves are a perfect place for fermentation, and we'll be fixed up nice and dry for the winter. He wants me to set it all up for him. So, what do you think of that? Wouldn't you like to go there with me to live with the Elves?"

But Cella could not think at all, or speak, or listen to another word, or do much of anything besides sit and stare back at the three of them in utter and complete shock. The pieces of the strange puzzle she had been struggling to put together fell into place as she was told how the Elfking had gone to the town by the Long Lake to make arrangements with the boatmen to have the wine-casks hauled up the river to his halls. Now that the harvesting was finished, most of the workers would be moving off of the vineyard. Their backs would be needed to help load the flatboats, so some haste was needed, once the decision had been made.

"You are looking at an official Court Vintner to King Thranduil, esquire," Uncle Dwain announced proudly to top off the incredible turn of events. Milda and Ingarde were awed by the news and offered profuse congratulations. "Or leastways," he admitted sheepishly, "I will be after the investiture ceremony at the feast tomorrow night. Can you imagine that?" He returned to his breakfast with a chuckle. "It's a happy day." Beside him, Milda poked Ingarde and nodded her head over toward Cella before she spoke:

"Just look at that smile on her face now, I do think she likes the idea."

"Of course, I told you she would," said Ingarde. "Didn't I?"

t b c


	14. Chapter 14?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 14

Once Cella had recovered from the shock of learning her ultimate destination, and recognized how wrong she had been about being dismissed, along with her uncle, she felt such relief that joy rushed to her head the way the wine she had drunk during the night of the storm had done. It took a while for her absorb the information fully.

Her heart seemed to soar even higher as the realization thoroughly sank in that soon she would be seeing the Elfking's legendary halls, within his deep mysterious forest. It made her feel giddy with happiness, more so than she could ever remember feeling in her life. The mix-ups in her thinking were gone over, and explained, with Milda, Ingarde and her uncle, and no one laughed harder at her than she did herself.

The decision to move the wine-making operation to the cavernous halls had been made before Gorst's attack on her. Only no one had thought to tell her, or felt it important for her to be told instantly, and then apparently both Uncle Dwain and the King had assumed that the other had done so.

"Your uncle was real worried last night, when he told us about taking you to the King's caves." Milda said, nodding her head toward Uncle Dwain, who agreed that he had been.

"He was afraid you might not want to leave your new home so soon after getting here," added Ingarde, not to be outdone in the 'heard tells'.

And Cella had to admit to herself that, although she had dreamed for many years about visiting the Elves in the great forest, and even after the abuse she had suffered at Gorst's hands, she was feeling a little sad about leaving the vineyard. Milda and Ingarde would be leaving also, now that the harvesting was done. They would return in the fall next year, and Uncle Dwain assured all three of them that he planned on coming back, with his niece, directly after the spring thaw.

Originally, her uncle was not planning on living in the Elfking's caves. As soon as the cellar's interior structure had been properly constructed, the barrels arranged and situated correctly, and there were enough Elves trained in their upkeep, he had planned on returning to the vineyard to help oversee the place during the winter. Cella was to stay at the vineyard, while the Elfking and his newest royal vintner went ahead to the forest to make preparations for the massive wine cellar that the two of them had planned. Accordingly, there had been no thought given to permanent living arrangements for either him or his niece.

The attack had changed everything. But today none of them wanted to speak any more about that episode, so the topic was changed to more lighthearted gossip about the doings in the vineyard, which was mostly tales of the frantic effort being made to prepare the wine barrels for delivery to the Elfking's halls.

Uncle Dwain, satisfied now that his niece was not opposed to pulling up stakes after all, cheerfully left her in the care of Milda and Ingarde, while he went off to the vintner's shed to oversee the first racking. After the new wine had been transferred into smaller barrels, leaving the primary sediment behind in the larger fermentation casks that the juices had first been poured into, those barrels would be loaded on wagons and driven to the Long Lake for further transportation by boat to the Elfking's halls within the forest.

"It won't be for a week or so that the barrels get to the caves, and I need to get a look at the King's cellars beforehand, to see what kind of room he's got there for all this." Her uncle seemed more delighted than anxious about the additional responsibilities added to his already busy schedule. Cella felt embarrassed that she had doubted even for a moment the Elfking's high esteem of Uncle Dwain's abilities and worthiness.

In fact, Cella turned hot and cold inside several times during the morning as the things she had said to the Elfking the day before came into her mind, the assumptions she had made and the way she had contradicted His Majesty...what a fool she must have sounded like! But, she felt too good inside to dwell for long on her wrong-headed reactions, or suffer from regret.

And her friends barely gave her a moment to reflect on much of anything for more than the time it took them to draw breath. They were determined to talk her into coming downstairs to get a peek at the Elves' living areas, while they were all still allowed to be there, and perhaps even coax her out of doors into the gardens. It did sound alluring, and she finally agreed.

Then they were faced with the problem of finding Cella something to wear now that she was ready to be up and about again. She had on a simple but beautiful nightgown that was undoubtedly made for an Elleth to wear. It had a high neckline that tied with a dark green ribbon, but otherwise bore no decorative trim. The elegant sleeves ended below her fingertips and when she got out of the bed to model it for them, the hem dragged on the floor.

Her one good dress had been destroyed by Gorst, or at least she believed it had. It was nowhere to be seen in the Elfking's chambers and she had not thought to ask her uncle about it before he had left that morning. However, Cella was in such good spirits with her friends that she mused out loud in front of them about how the modest nightgown she was wearing was more decent than her nearly disintegrated work clothes, which were her only other option.

"Maybe I will just wear this to go outside?" She lifted the skirt on one side as if she was wearing a fancy ball-gown and stepped daintily about the room with her nose up in the air.

Although they both laughed, her shocked friends, unprepared for her to be anything but truthful, sincerely pleaded with her not to test her theory outside of the bedroom door. The gown may not be indecent, but that did not make it fit for public view, at least not in their eyes. According to them, she would resemble nothing more than an escaped invalid, or a wraith, if she wandered about the vineyard in the billowing white nightgown.

"I guess I will have to stay here, in this bedroom, forever," she said with a regretful sigh, and then grinned at the thought. It did not seem such an evil fate. But Milda and Ingarde would hear none of it. They had promised the Elfking that they would make sure Cella was not allowed to lie in bed and brood. Both agreed with him that fresh air and sunlight were proper medicine for any occasion.

"Perhaps we could dress you in a presser's uniform? You could wear your stockings, if you're worried about your bare legs." It was agreed upon that Ingarde would fetch both the garment and stockings. Milda stayed with Cella and while they waited for her clothes, the two of them explored the Elfking's chambers and cautiously opened up every door, large or small, to peek inside. There was a wardrobe built into the wall that contained various articles of clothing on hooks or shelves. And there was a narrow cupboard, next to a large desk, with shelves holding tightly wound scrolls, blank sheets of parchment, ink pots and other writing implements.

They both squealed when they opened a door and discovered a bathing room, with a large tub fashioned from oak staves, and a little cast-iron stove for heating bath water. Shining brass bars held soft white towels and cloths, and large yellow cakes of soap sat next to a ceramic basin and pitcher on a ledge beside the tub. Light from the early day's sun filled the room from small windows that were placed high on the far wall.

The two women sat for a moment in awe on a bench by the door. It held more towels and cloths, folded and stacked, on one end. There was no water trough, like in the women's washroom downstairs, but instead a large barrel containing fresh water sat on a stand in one corner, with a spigot in its fat belly and a bucket beneath that. There were soft absorbent mats on the floor by the tub and the basin.

"I never saw so many different ways to keep a body clean as these Elves have thought up, have you?" asked Milda. Cella had to admit that a daily bath was certainly a novelty for her, but she had found them helpful for easing her tired muscles, just as Lanthiriel had promised.

It was agreed upon that a bath and hair wash were a good idea for Cella before she changed into clean clothes. Someone, she did not know who, had put her hair back in a single braid, and even though her face had been cleaned off, traces of dried blood and mud were visible in the sleep-matted plait. Milda soon had her hair unsnarled and the tub filled with steaming water, before leaving the room.

As she undressed and entered the tub, Cella was glad to be left alone, because the bruise on her leg, although nearly entirely faded, was still large and ugly enough to scare anyone with a sympathetic nature or a faint heart. But there was no pain, and she marveled at her healing as she lathered and rinsed the mottled flesh. Even the thin as a hair scar on her face felt less prominent under her fingers as she washed her face. And she remembered how the skin there had tingled when the Elfking had touched it with his fingertip, before he left.

As she soaked in the lovely bathing room, Cella could hear Ingarde's voice now from behind the closed door. After a few moments, she thought she detected a third voice talking with her friends, a low pitched musical murmur which indicated it was probably an Elleth. She wrapped her body and hair in towels and poked her head out of the door to see who was visiting and to ask for the presser's garment and stockings. Lanthiriel was there with a paper-wrapped package in her hands and a sorry expression, while Milda and Ingarde stood on either side of her with equally tragic looks upon their faces.

"What is it? What happened?" Cella asked with some trepidation, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

"You can't have a presser's garment to wear," reported Ingarde sorrowfully. "They have all been put away until next harvest season." The looks on all three of their faces was so contrite that Cella felt a tug of guilt for being such a bother for the normally tranquil Elleth and her friends.

"But, for you to wear, perhaps this will be good?" Lanthiriel's usual serene smile appeared as she brought the package to Cella. It was then that the twinkles of mischief in all three sets of eyes became obvious as the paper was unwrapped and a new dress was revealed. It was an exact duplicate of her ruined one, only it had been recreated in the frothy, shimmering leaf-green fabric that the skirts of the Ellith on the picking lines were made from.

Once she had it on, she could not express her gratitude adequately. And it fit her perfectly. Lanthiriel told them her old gown had been used as a pattern and then destroyed, by order of the Elfking. To Cella's relief, Milda and Ingarde refrained from teasing her about it as they made her sit so they could work on her hair and soon she was fit for public view, at least according to them. Her stomach growled and she was embarrassed because they had only just finished breakfast, it seemed, and she was hungry again.

"The Elfking said you would feel better and want to eat today," said Ingarde. "In fact, he said that you would probably be as hungry as a hobbit."

"A hobbit? What is a hobbit?" asked Cella.

"I am not exactly sure," replied Ingarde slowly, as if stalling in case Milda tried to jump in with an answer first. "But I think that they are some kind of rodent."

"No they aren't!" Milda laughed at her friend's ignorance. "They are little man-like creatures, with furry feet, a cross between a rabbit and a dwarf, I think. They live in odd little holes in the ground and they like to eat all the time. Or so I've heard tell."

Even the knowledgeable Lanthiriel was not much wiser about hobbits, but she was sure they were not related to either rodents or dwarves. However, she did also believe that they had voracious appetites. As they all speculated on the existence of the funny sounding creatures, they left the Elfking's chambers to find some lunch for Cella.

As Cella walked down the stairs into the great common room of the Elves' living area, she felt less afraid than she thought she would. The enormous hall was nearly deserted, and the few Elves who were there paid the three women little attention, beyond a quick glance in their direction. In one corner, by a window, an Elleth sat playing a meanderingly beautiful tune on a flute. On a bench by the fireplace, two more Elve's sat in quiet conversation.

There was a much cozier atmosphere here than in the mortals' areas, but understandably so. The Elves used this room year-round as a gathering area, whereas the living quarters for the itinerant workers were only inhabited for a brief amount of time each harvest season.

Lanthiriel parted from them when they reached the bottom of the stairs, and wished them a good day before she went back out into the vineyard.

As Milda and Ingarde confidently led the way through the large room, on their way to the kitchen, Cella could see distinctive touches of Elven handiwork that graced the walls, floors, windows, and furniture. Woven tapestries depicting the forest, its rivers, its hills, or featuring parties of Elves hunting stags, or various other beasts and fowl, were hung from walls or draped over chairs, benches, and couches. Vases, filled with fall flowers and foliage, were set out on tables or ledges, and alongside some of them sat bowls of fruit, mostly apples. Colorful rugs added warmth to the otherwise austere flagged floors of the Fair Folk's living space.

Free access to the kitchen had been granted to the women caring for Cella, by order of the Elfking. Milda and Ingarde were almost impossible to talk to once they had entered their brand new personal domain, or so they behaved. But it was fun watching them show off how much they knew as they opened drawers and cupboards to display both the largesse and variety of the Elvenking's larder. They admitted to feeling a bit ashamed of their doubt about how well Cella was being fed, after the first time they had been permitted to prepare a meal for her.

They were respectful of the privilege they had been given, however, and had already made friends with the cooks and other members of the household kitchen staff. For Cella's lunch, they decided to prepare a picnic basket to take outdoors. From the windows in the common room, they had all seen the tables and benches set out in the garden. The day was sunshiny bright and inviting. Ingarde spoke enough Elvish to ask for help in finding what they needed, and being able to toss King Thranduil's name around turned out to be the key that unlocked every secret hidden from view.

As Ingarde showed off by using her language skills, she found a couple of Elves who had more information to share about hobbits. They claimed that the furry-footed, hole-dwelling, rodent-like people were known to eat their weight in cheese and bread on a daily basis. Despite this massive intake of food, they could disappear in the twinkling of an eye, and remain invisible at will. The women were told about a particularly clever hobbit who had run about loose within the Elfking's halls, undetected, for many weeks, emptying pantries. This had happened many years ago, and neither Elf had ever seen the creature.

But, they were certain that hobbits had some relationship to dwarves. According to them, the famous one who lived in their halls for all that time had reportedly helped a group of the bearded, stunted folk escape from the Elvenking's cellars. The dwarves were being held on charges of trespassing, disturbing the peace, and suspicion of plotting to steal treasure.

Milda and Ingarde recalled hearing tales about the dwarves who had come to Esgaroth from the Mirkwood forest, on their way to reclaim the throne under the Lonely Mountain. But they knew not much more than that, except that the legendary dragon, Smaug, had been mixed up with all of this somehow. Their own parents had sometimes spoken of those times, but the two of them had never fully understood all the connections.

In the garden, Cella felt her heart could burst from the way the autumn-hued leaves on the trees and bushes were contrasted against the backdrop of the brilliant blue sky. It was hard for her to imagine the type of bitter, snowy weather that Milda and Ingarde had so carefully described to her, on such a warm day. But they were right about the weather she was used to by the inland sea of Rhun. Although it did grow icy cold there, deep snowfalls were rare and nearly exotic.

There had been one harsh winter she could clearly recall, when the sea had frozen solid enough, for a few frigid days, that fishermen could walk out on its surface and cut holes in the ice to fish through. Her uncle had not allowed her out on it, but she was permitted to stand on the shore, bundled up from head to toe, to watch the patient men. They squatted down beside their individual holes, steam blowing from their noses, as they waited for a tug at their hand-held lines.

Reminiscing about her old home led her to wondering again about her new home, and she thought about the tapestries she had seen while walking through the Elves' common room. She wished she was brave enough to return by herself in order to study each one of them more closely, at her leisure. She had visited fermentation caves with her uncle many times, and had no fear of living underground. The idea was appealing to her when she considered how harsh the winters sounded.

As Cella imagined herself living in those caves behind that great gate under a hill, as she had seen it in the tapestry pictures, she shivered with anticipation and wondered how often she would see the Elfking. It was, after all, his home and his realm. Once his wine was safely beneath him, perhaps he would not choose to travel away from his halls during the winter, or so she hoped. Himbor's sister, Glawareth, her former picking partner for a day, had remarked to her, during the time they had spent together on the lines, how the monarch preferred to remain near his subjects and spent little time at the vineyard.

At the time, Cella remembered, she had wished that the frightening Elfking would depart for his halls more often, so she would not have to be fearful of accidentally encountering him. Now she longed for him to return. Tomorrow night, the night of the feast, he would be back. He had said so to her, she realized with a start. He had made a point of telling her that he was going to return in time for the party. And he had smiled right into her eyes when he said it. She felt a wave of warmth sweep over her as she pictured his face above her.

"I think we better get you out of the sun, Cella" said Ingarde worriedly. "You are turning as red as a beet!"

t b c


	15. Chapter 15?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 15

Despite their best efforts that day, neither Milda nor Ingarde were able to coax Cella any further outdoors than the gardens surrounding the Elfking's main house. They expressed much skepticism at her insistence that she was not afraid to see anyone, or to be seen, but merely concerned about being in the way out in the vineyard and causing a distraction.

Milda and Ingarde wanted to take a walk to the vintner's shed for a visit to Uncle Dwain, and to show off Cella in her new dress, when they were all finished with their lunch. But after she declined, they did not insist too hard, as it was too comfortable relaxing under the shade of the graceful autumn-hued trees for verbal combat.

Even within the isolated condition of the Elves' sheltered garden, Cella was well aware of the amount of frantic activity taking place out in the vineyard from the telling sounds that drifted her way from time to time. Men were shouting or whistling, horses were neighing, and thumps, bumps, and bangs all bespoke of the eternal struggle the workers were having hoisting the unwieldy wine barrels up onto the wagon beds.

She knew Uncle Dwain's opinion about sight-seers, bystanders, or any others who stood around just watching while hard work was being done. He referred to them as loafers who were more of a hindrance than helpful. 'Either get to work or get out of the way' was his motto. And she would not be persuaded to believe that, even in her pretty new gown, she was an exception to his rule. An interruption was an interruption, no matter how welcome they thought she should be. Milda and Ingarde could not counter that kind of common sense, and they were forced to agree.

The garden was a quiet haven from the busy vineyard, and the murmuring bubbling songs from fountains that were placed around the grounds muffled most of the distracting sounds from the barrel loading operations. To be idle for any length of time was a rare treat for the three of them. And the Elfking had only prescribed fresh air and sunlight, with no mention of any social obligations. The peaceful surroundings made the two women forget why it was so important for them to drag Cella out of the front door to show off her pretty new dress; even they had to admit there was always tomorrow for that.

The garden's picnicking tables were under a group of trees that were just beginning to shed their colorful leaves, which fluttered from the branches like large yellow or rust-hued snowflakes when stirred by the breezes. The women would hop up from their seats from time to time in an effort to catch one that fell close by and make a wish.

The trick was to get to it before it touched the ground and that was nearly impossible as the falling leaves seemed to twist and twirl in a deviously deliberate manner to escape their clutching fingers. Ingarde turned out to be the deftest at judging the direction they would fall, and managed three wishes. Cella and Milda each had one.

Not surprisingly, both of the local women wished for husbands who would build them their own little homes near the Long Lake before long. In the spring, when the first of the fruit crops began to ripen, they would both be traveling again from field to orchard to farm until autumn. Unless they met the right men in the meantime, in which case they would never return to the fields again, but they would both come to visit the vineyard, they promised.

For the winter, Ingarde would be working at an inn near the Long Lake, owned by a relative of hers, but only for room and board until the following spring and the harvest seasons began again. She had worked there every summer, too, when she was a girl. But when she was old enough to make her own decisions, or felt that she was anyway, she became bored with the daily drudgery of inn keeping and yearned for adventure. On an impulse, she had jumped on board a wagon loaded with merry looking orchard workers headed for a local farm, and had not returned back to the lake until the fall, with pockets full of silver. That had been a few years ago.

Usually, the number of visitors seeking accommodations at the family inn during the winter was minimal, and Ingarde would be left there in charge while the innkeeper, a cousin of her mother's, took a much needed annual vacation. She spoke dreamily of a nice young man who had built a stable nearby. Milda poked Cella in the ribs and smiled knowingly as they listened.

Ingarde told them how she had met the stable-owner the year before, and had only just been getting to know him when she had left, reluctantly, during strawberry picking season. And he had been sweet on her, she said with a low laugh that indicated the two of them had progressed further than just a casual acquaintance. As fat bumble-bees buzzed about the blossoms nearby, the only eavesdroppers to their conversation, she spoke of how she was hoping that he would be still be single when she returned. It had been many months since she had been back, and there was a lot of competition for eligible bachelors.

Cella wondered why Ingarde thought the life of a stable-owner's wife would be any more exciting and interesting than inn keeping, but kept it to herself. Out loud she hoped along with her friend that the man of her dreams was still available, and that her wish of her own home by the Long Lake would come true.

With a wistful sigh, Milda reported that she would be returning to her parents' home for the winter months, a small overcrowded hut from her description of it, and would be sharing a bedroom with two sisters and a new baby brother. There was no sweetheart waiting for her, but she had met a field-worker during the night of the storm, who she thought might ask her to dance a time or two at the feast. She regretted the lack of time needed to convince him to pursue her, but she was hoping he was a local man, so maybe they would see each other again before the following spring.

Cella was impressed when she learned that Uncle Dwain, after being consulted by the women about the field-worker's character, had pronounced the young man to be "a hard worker who kept his nose clean", high praise from his lips. Milda had used her one fallen-leaf wish on him.

Besides finding her potential stable-owning husband-to-be still living near her relative's inn, Ingarde wished that more customers would show up looking for lodging this year, to keep her from dying from boredom. But she knew that after the busy winter festival season was over with, she, the housekeepers, and the fat cook, who all lived there year round, would spend many quiet nights by the fire, waiting for the spring thaw.

And Ingarde's third wish was that she would be able to return to the Elfking's vineyard, to be with her two friends, even if only for a visit, in case she married the stable-owner in the meantime. Cella agreed that it was possible, if not probable, for the two women to have homes of their own in the near future, if they set their minds to it and landed the right men.

The discussion turned to Cella's unique position in the main house, in the royal sleeping chamber, and she braced herself. It turned out that Milda and Ingarde viewed the arrangement more as a measure of the Elfking's esteem for Uncle Dwain than favoritism toward her, and not at all as a gesture of romantic affection. She felt an odd sense of disappointment as she realized how correct they were, but mostly she felt relieved. There was no doubt her friends believed she was receiving exceptional treatment, but they were also convinced she was deserving of it, and did not begrudge her.

As they cautiously navigated their way around the issue of just exactly how she had ended up such an enviable position, carefully alluding to the night of the attack without being too specific, the two women recalled how devastated her uncle had been when he had seen what Gorst had done to her. Both of the women had heard King Thranduil when he promised the weeping man that no one would ever hurt Cella again, and they had believed he was capable of keeping such a vow.

"You are lucky that His Majesty likes your uncle so much, Cella," said Ingarde.

"We are all lucky," interjected Milda, whose only complaint was how brief a time the work lasted here at the vineyard. She envied all of the Elves who lived in the main house all the year, and wished she could figure out a way to do so, too.

It was such a treat, Milda said, to sleep in a bed, a real bed, and all by herself, that she wished she knew how to manage it year-round. And the idea of spending an entire winter without the usual icy nose and frozen toes, that she was doomed to experience in her parents home, was suddenly so appealing that she bemoaned using up her one wish on a mere man.

"I think you're going to have a nice snug winter in them caves, too," Ingarde said to Cella. "Only I hope none of them invisible hobbits comes around to pester you."

It helped Cella to hear them talk about her situation, and she began to feel more comfortable, enjoying what she feared might appear to be a questionable or controversial arrangement. Not that it would have changed anything, her friends' approval or disapproval did not seem as important to her as the thrill she felt when she lay under the covers of the massive canopied bed in the royal bedchamber. And she had not arrived in such a position by personal decision, desire, or choice, but had been placed there by the Elfking and ordered to stay put.

At one point in the dreamy quiet day, a few Elves silently gathered on a large bench by one of the fountains, a little distance from where the three women were sitting, and began to play some peaceful music on harps and lute. A few other Elves and Ellith wandered out from the main house, and more came through the paths in the garden, and sat on the moss-covered areas beneath the trees. After a polite nod toward the women, they turned their attention to the musicians.

Soon, the three women had abandoned the benches they were sitting on and were reclined on the natural mossy blanket, too. When the Elves began to sing along with the musicians, Milda leaned against a tree and promptly fell asleep. Ingarde quietly translated for Cella any words of the songs she did not understand. The mellow fall colors and crisp air was providing the chief inspiration as they sang of firith, the time of fading.

One particular song told of how the green leaves of summer were putting on one last showy display of color, turning bright gold or fiery red, before falling to cover the roots of the trees. Then, prepared for storms and snow from crown to toe, the sleeping trees spent the season dreaming through the darkness about the day when new life would bud and unfurl from their bare branches again.

"Do you think that's true?" Ingarde asked Cella after the musicians put their instruments down for a rest. "That part about trees dreaming?" They were lying on their backs, using Milda's stretched out legs as their pillow, and looking upward at the foliage above them. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to stretch out and stare at the leaves when the songs were being sung.

"If anyone should know, it would be the Elves," Cella replied. "I was taught that the Fair Folk talk to every living thing as if it has a voice and can reply. But what would a tree have to say, I wonder?" Neither of them could imagine.

"Well, whether or not trees can dream when they sleep, at least they don't snore as loud as Milda," Ingarde concluded.

Later, when she was finally alone and lying awake in the Elfking's great bed, while waiting for her uncle to come back to their room for the night, Cella thought over the events of her day. She knew that she was going to be coaxed by Milda and Ingarde into leaving the main house the next morning, and she decided it would not be difficult to do. It would be good to see some familiar faces again and she did want to show the other pressers her new dress, and thank the ones who had helped make it.

Satisfied with her decision, she was dozing off, with curtains drawn, when she heard Uncle Dwain come in and begin to prepare for bed. There was a couch made up for him with blankets and pillow, but it made her feel guilty to think of him trying to stretch out his great tired bulk on it. She thought about suggesting that they return to their little home, with their own beds, but quickly wished him a good night instead. She was far too cozy to move from under the blankets and out into the cold night air voluntarily

But, after a moment, Cella's conscience got the better of her, and she called out to him and asked if he would be more comfortable sleeping in his own bed. When he did not reply, she pulled the curtain back to see his reaction and found that he was fast asleep. In the morning, when she was wakened by Milda and Ingarde, he was gone already.

"I didn't hear the daybreak horns," Cella said to excuse herself for still being in bed when her friends had arrived with breakfast.

"That's because they didn't blow any today," said Ingarde. "Most of the Elves worked through the night and never went to bed. And most of the men, like your uncle, were back working before the sun came up."

"But it's no excuse for you to be a lazy-bones," scolded Milda in a mock-serious tone of voice. "You call yourself a vineyard worker and here you are still in bed when there's wine to be racked?" She sounded a perfect imitation of Uncle Dwain. Ingarde opened the shutters to let the bright morning into the dimly lit chamber while Cella sprang from beneath the covers to get dressed and have breakfast with them

As she had predicted, from a distance it was apparent that the vintner's shed was the hub of all the current activity now that the grapes had all been picked, pressed, filtered and poured into the casks. Both Elves and men were carefully loading the last of the filled and corked barrels onto the flat-bedded wagons. Most had already been delivered to the Long Lake, and the frantic rush of the preceding days had slowed to a steady unhurried pace. Even so, no one had time to do more than nod and smile in their direction when the women approached.

The smile on Uncle Dwain's face, as he walked about surveying the scene, indicated to Cella that everything was going according to plan and probably on schedule. Her uncle, after finally noticing her waiting there for him, was surprised to see her wearing the Elf-made dress and was pleased to know she had something nice to replace her ruined one. He had left their room yesterday morning before Lanthiriel had brought it, and had not returned until after she had removed it for sleeping. Mostly he was delighted by how well and happy she appeared to be overall and very glad to see she was willing to come out of the main house.

Lanthiriel arrived and greeted the three pressers with one of her charming smiles before leading them back out of a shed to find a quiet place for them to sit and visit with her. In the excitement of delivering the new dress to Cella, which she took a moment to admire again, the Elleth said that she had forgotten to ask her if she had any questions about her anticipated move to the caves with her uncle. She would be happy to answer them.

Most of the Ellith from the pressing vats, including her, would also be returning to their homes to the Elvenking's forest until the following harvest season. Although it was wonderful to learn that there would be familiar faces to look forward to seeing in her new home, Cella was surprised to learn from the helpful Elleth that not very many of the Wood-elves actually lived within the caves. Most preferred to live either in the trees that grew both on and close beside the hill or in little houses that were built near the great gates of the underground dwelling.

Besides one great level within that contained the palace of the Elfking, his vast halls were used mostly for gatherings and feasts. But they were made to last through sieges and were still available as a safe haven for his subjects if the realm was ever under attack. Milda and Ingarde did not like to hear their friend may face some type of terrible fate but Cella was interested in learning more about the Elves, and the world that they lived in, whether it was dangerous or not.

Serenely, Lanthiriel admitted that indeed there was still great evil in the wide world, and a good deal of it haunted the edges of the Elvenking's great forest. But the great pitched battles with armies of orcs from Moria that once were common were fading into history. And the former flagrant orc raids from the mountains in the north had ceased after the great Battle of the Five Armies, which was fought beneath the shadow of the Lonely Mountain.

Cella realized she was referring to the same famous war that had been spoken of the day before in the kitchen, when they had been talking with the Elves about the elusive hobbit creature that had helped the dwarves who escaped to Esgaroth. She wanted to ask more about it except that Ingarde had a question first.

"I heard tell," she began, "that there's these giant spiders living in Mirkwood and..."

"Are you afraid of spiders, Cella?" an unexpected voice interrupted, and all of the women, and the nearly flustered Elleth, leapt to their feet to greet the speaker who had arrived so silently that none had noticed. But the Elfking kept his gaze on Cella as she tried to respond. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart was pounding so loud she could not hear her own thoughts for a moment. But it was not a hard question to answer.

"No, my Lord, I am not afraid of spiders." It seemed an odd thing to ask a person reared up on a vineyard. She had spent many hours of her life removing every type of crawling creature from the grape clusters. His kind smile broadened before he spoke again.

"There are spiders," said the Elfking, and then he added, mysteriously, "and then there are...spiders."

t b c


	16. Chapter 16?

The King's Vineyard

Chapter 16

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

(This is to replace un-betad edition. There are a few minor changes)

Warning: There are spiders...

The Elfking's words, about there being spiders, and then there being spiders, must have been meant as a riddle, or so Cella believed. However, a tiny thrill of anxiety ran down her spine at the undertone of implied danger beneath the monarch's cryptic utterance. It was as if he wanted to prepare her, and Milda and Ingarde as well, to hear something that was very unpleasant. He gestured for the mortal women, and Lanthiriel, to be seated on the bench, as they had been before he had interrupted them.

"To answer your question," he directed at the wide-eyed Ingarde, "There was a time, not long ago, when my forest was indeed infested with all manner of fiendish creatures in service to the Dark Lord. And yes, as you have heard tell, the spawn of Shelob, herself the daughter of Ungoliant, were chief among them."

Lanthiriel shuddered, and the women stirred uneasily at the mention of the unfamiliar, but sinister-sounding, names. The Elfking told them of the hideous creature Shelob, and her innumerable offspring, the giant spiders....

"Excuse me, Highness, but when you say giant," Milda broke in, "just what do you mean and how big are you talking?" She held her hands apart the size of a dinner plate. "Like that?" And then, her hands went a little wider, the size of a house cat, as she asked, "Or like that?" Instead of answering her right away, Thranduil tilted his chin, and cast his eyes upward, as if he could discern the answer hovering in the air above all of their heads. While Cella wondered if the Elfking was going to reprimand her cheeky friend for interrupting him, he seemed to come to a decision and, facing them again, smiled benevolently at the women before him.

And then, to Cella's delight, he sat down on the bench with them, after motioning at her to move over enough for him to fit comfortably between her and Milda. He stretched out his legs, placed the heel of one boot on the top of the other, laid his forearms over his thighs, and seemed to take a moment to enjoy the sensation of being at ease in his a seat, before he answered.

"When I say giant," he said slowly, "I mean of a size not to be trifled with." As he answered, the Elfking's voice was soft, which made the message seem all the more deadly. A distant look came into his gaze and a strange light entered his eyes as he seemed to leave his audience behind for a moment while he traveled along a fearful path in his memory to re-encounter an old foe, and all for their benefit.

Unfortunately, his too brief, and otherwise incomprehensible, reply about the size of the spiders, 'of a size not to be trifled with', was like red meat tossed to hungry dogs, at least as far as half of his otherwise appreciative audience, Milda and Ingarde, were concerned. Cella could tell they were getting braver by the minute, and she wondered if Thranduil was sorry he allowed the first interruption without protest.

For now, the chivalrous Elfking was set upon by experts in the art of ferreting out information. And whatever marvelous store of knowledge there was within him, that he had called upon to draw from, was left temporarily idle as he was asked, with all due respect, just exactly what he meant by 'of a size' in relation to the term giant, and 'not to be trifled with' in relation to anything that was previously discussed. It was quite a battle; he did not stand a chance.

When the monarch was finally and firmly pinned down by the team of pressers, he described for them a creature with a hideous body that was not as large as a boar, but larger than a typical dog. And, he added ominously, these eight-legged monsters were not just massive in bulk, and swift of foot, but intelligently treacherous in nature. Before he could elaborate any further, the sound of someone clearing his throat drew all of their startled attention to the tall robed Elf, Thaladir, who stood, otherwise, silent nearby. Milda and Ingarde had jumped with simultaneous gasps, as if they had been expecting a giant spider to leap out at them, at any given moment.

"Whatever the matter is, surely it can wait for a short time," Thranduil addressed his seneschal, and then, with a sweep of his hand that was meant to encompass the women and Elleth who sat with him, "As you can see, I have detected a distinct lack in the education of some of my workers, specifically about the nature of my forest, and its variety of creatures, both large and small."

Although the Elfking's tone was light, Cella could sense that Thaladir was being mildly scolded, and she felt a little sorry for him because of it. Whatever there was to be known about the spiders, giant or not, could always be put off for another time, it was silly to think otherwise. She was not sure if the dignified Elf was being chided for interrupting their present lesson, or for not having thought to give them one himself before this. But she was secretly pleased that His Majesty was not eager to escape the company of the curious women, even when given a clear opportunity.

With a familiar bounce of self-satisfaction in his step, Cella's uncle approached, looking quite proud of himself, almost enough to burst his buttons. Before anyone could rise, he signaled at them to remain seated.

"Sit, sit, no reason to get up," he exclaimed. "I have news, good news, too."

Milda, Ingarde and Lanthiriel gladly invited him to take a seat, with pats to the bench indicating that there was plenty of room. He bowed politely to each of them in turn with a happy twinkle in his eyes, but declined to sit, yet. And then he turned to his employer with a deeper bow.

"It is good to see you here, Your Worship." The Elfking nodded back at him graciously and said that he was happy to be there, as well. And then Uncle Dwain looked at his niece, who he clearly doted on, much to her chagrin. "And would you look at my Cella," he said after a moment, "She looks as pretty as a flower in her new dress, don't you think?"

As Milda and Ingarde heartily agreed with him, the wearer of the dress felt her face grow hot, and knew she was blushing, which made it that much worse. But, unwittingly, her oblivious uncle saved her when he turned back to Thranduil, and shifted smoothly into his new role as a royal crown-vintner, esquire.

"Well, My Lord," he announced, "I am happy to report that the last of the barrels have been loaded, and sent off for transport. You two must've passed the wagon going down the road as you were coming up our way?" After the Elfking had indicated that he and his seneschal had seen it, and had speculated about it as well, which seemed to amuse Uncle Dwain. He further informed the Elves, triumphantly, "We didn't lose a single barrel, neither. Not a one."

"Excellent," pronounced Thranduil, with a slap of his hand on his thigh. "And, if I am not mistaken, this must mean we are ahead of schedule." He directed this last statement toward his seneschal, who immediately and staunchly affirmed that his monarch's shrewd assessment of the current situation was perfectly correct, as usual. The noble robed Elf spoke with stiff solemnity and utmost dignity.

His dour demeanor, in contrast with Cella's brightly beaming uncle, who now seemed to be bouncing in place as he unconsciously rocked back and forth, shifting from his heels to toes, while smiling from ear to ear, was such that Milda and Ingarde had to stifle giggles at the sight of them side by side. But in Cella's eyes, the tall robed Elf actually looked much less anxious and stern, after hearing the good news, than he normally appeared. And he almost smiled, she thought.

As her uncle proceeded to crow about the round-the-clock efforts put forth by the Elfking's diligent and steadfast workers, Cella noticed that the unobtrusive Nandirn had quietly joined them, too. Over the past couple of days, she had seen the gray-clad Elf a few times in or around the main house. He would greet her with a smile and a nod, and she found it not too difficult to murmur something polite in reply. After he had passed by she would always regret not having the courage to speak with him. She was curious about him, and his mysterious air of authority.

"Ah, Nandirn, good, good, you are here," said the Elfking, sitting bolt upright as if coming to from deep sleep. "I must speak with you. Let us remove ourselves to the house." While he was speaking, he rose from the bench, and Milda and Ingarde groaned with displeasure. They were interested in hearing more about the spiders of Mirkwood, and of any other dastardly creature that might be skulking in secret near the caves their friend Cella was being sent away to. And they were not shy or quiet now as they mentioned their displeasure over his abandoning them. After he had only just begun to tell them what they wanted to know.

Even Lanthiriel, who must have known about the creatures in the forest by first hand experience, appeared to be disappointed to see her King leave, although her reaction, a slight droop to her shoulders and a downcast expression on her normally placid face, was subtle. Cella was just sad to see him prepare to withdraw from view, whether or not he continued with stories of his distant realm, now that he had only just returned.

"Ladies, it grieves me to distress such an attentive audience," he said courteously. "However, I must attend to some affairs that have recently come to my attention." This announcement only elicited another chorus of groans, to which the Elfking lifted an open palm of surrender. "Very well, as a substitute, might I offer up to you the highly esteemed services of the most learned historian in the lore of the dominion of the Dark Lord, and his inhabitation of my forest?" With a regal flourish, he gestured to Thaladir.

The tall Elf bowed back in return, while he thanked His Majesty for his kind words, and his most gracious assessment. Then he turned to the women and solemnly vowed to endeavor to do his best to inform the mortal maids of the unfortunate history of the occupation of his most beloved forest by the sinister Dark Lord, and his minions. That is, of course, only if they desired to learn some more.

All three women heartily and vigorously assured him that, yes, indeed, they wanted to know more.

"No," said Milda, shaking her head, "not just some more. Some more is not enough. I want a lot more."

"What she means," Ingarde added confidentially, "is that we want to know everything there is to know." At that, the Elfking smiled broadly and, turning to his seneschal, raised his eyebrow as if measuring the tall Elf's suitability for the task, before addressing him.

"Everything. Indeed. Now that is a tall order, my faithful friend. I am not sure if you are up for it after such a long day, and hard ride. Do you think you will be in need of some assistance? I could look around perhaps, and find...," but the tall Elf, who had frowned at the words 'up for it', and stiffened at the word 'assistance', finally jerked his head toward the Elfking and, with a level but silent stare, brought the monarch's playful banter to a halt. Once again the women had to stifle themselves, and this time even Cella had to bite her lip to keep from showing similar mirth-filled disrespect at the dignified seneschal's expense.

Thranduil, however, chuckled merrily and clapped his hand on the seneschal's back. He assured Thaladir that he had an unwavering faith in his most trusted advisor's ability to enlighten even a stone on the history and manner of its making, if given enough time. With that said, he bade the women, and Lanthiriel, a good day, and left them, after beckoning at Uncle Dwain to follow along with him and Nandirn.

For Cella, it was as if someone had blown out a candle in an otherwise well-lit room when the Elfking withdrew from sight, it was a bit dimmer around her, but not entirely black. She knew she would see him again. And she was interested in what Thaladir had to say concerning the history of the Dark Times in Rhovanion. 

Soon all of their feelings of disappointment, and any left over tremors of mirth, had been erased, and replaced by riveted attention on the seneschal. He stood before them, his hands behind his back, and spoke at length of the evil that had started out in an isolated location at the very southern edge of the forest, but spread like a dark stain over the Great Greenwood. He had decided to begin in the year 1,100, in the Third Age, which was a time so fantastically long ago that the three women were awed by the way the Elf spoke of it, as if it were only a few seasons in the past. That was the year that the shadow of fear entered the domain of the Wood-elves, and set up residence near the Anduin River, atop of a hill called Amon Lanc.

Slowly, over the following years, various loathsome creatures had crept in from the east as well, to lurk within the shadows beneath the trees and ceaselessly torment the Wood-elves. Perhaps something in the frightened faces of the mortal women who sat before him gave the seneschal pause, for he assured the women that this had all happened many, many years before, when the stronghold Dol Guldur, the center of all the mentioned dreadful activity, had been secretly established upon Amon Lanc. A time so long ago that even their great-grandsires would not have yet been born to tell of it.

However, it was horrible enough for the time that it lasted, he had to admit. From that location, a malevolent influence not only began to spread, but also attracted to itself all manner of foul beast or spirit that dwelt in Mordor. And they came, relentlessly, crawling, creeping, or flying forth, to swarm over the former glory of the pristine woodland and drove the southern dwelling Wood-elves out of their homes and far to the north, where they sought shelter in the great caves of Thranduil Oropherion.

Eventually, according to Thaladir, along with the creatures of darkness, there came a stifling emanation from the cloaked tower. After many more hundreds of years, the entire woodland was nearly completely shrouded in the bitterly oppressive gloom, and was renamed Taur-nu-Fuin, or, rather, Mirkwood, a term he was certain they were more familiar with, by the mortals of Erebor, and Taur-e-Ndaedelos Forest of the Great Fear, by the Elves.

"Say that again," asked Ingarde, who was always eager to add new words to her Elvish vocabulary. Cella said the forest names along with her, and they repeated the tricky 'Ndaedelos' over and over, until the seneschal was satisfied with their pronunciations. Milda did not even try, but she thought it was all so terribly tragic that she could cry.

The seneschal returned to his narrative and told how eventually the entire forest, save for the protected lands near the Elfking's gates, within the boundaries of the two rivers, was otherwise deathly hazardous, dreadfully gloomy, and plagued by orcs, wargs, and spiders. Milda interrupted to ask what a warg was, exactly. And then she was sorry she asked when she saw the look on Cella's face as the Elf described the hideous ravenous wolf-like beasts who hunted in packs.

"For many long years the constant and never-ceasing battle was fought between the Elves of our realm and the noxious beasts of every kind that continuously entered our forest, as they were called forth from Mordor. And in the year 2941," said the seneschal with a sense of relief in his voice, as if even he had doubted the outcome of the sad state of affairs, "the famous White Council was convened, and attended by both Elf lords of the highest order, and Istari, in an effort to find a solution to the ever-growing threat to all of the borders by then, a threat that could no longer remain ignored."

Cella noted a touch of bitterness in the Elf's voice, and she could understand it well. Why had it taken so long for the rest of Middle-earth to come to the aid of the Wood-elves, and their Elfking? Her heart burned inside as she listened to the history of assaults suffered by the Fair Folk, and how they had fought them off all alone. It took far too long for other Elves to step in, she believed, and was glad to hear about this council.

Where, Thaladir continued, it was decided by the wisest of the wise to send one of the most venerated Istari, named Mithrandir, alone into the very depths of the malefic lair. His charge was to investigate and, if possible, to penetrate the shroud of darkness that cloaked the mind of the nefarious fortresses' unknown inhabitant from all understanding. For the invader was only known at that time as The Necromancer, and was believed to be one of the Nazgul, which was, according to the Elf, quite an alarming thought in and of itself.

"Naz-ghoul?" Ingarde asked. "And what are those? Some weird type of a regular ghoul?" She clucked her tongue. "I don't like the sound of 'em. Are they anything like that invisible hobbit you have around those caves?" The seneschal blinked. And looked a bit taken aback, as if he had just entered into an entirely different conversation than the one he had been prepared to continue. Cella felt for him, but knew he should never have taken so much time to draw breath.

"And what are Istari?" Milda wanted to know, still trying to work out the part about the White Council, and its attendees.

With a deep sigh, the tall Elf sat on the bench beside Lanthiriel, and explained to them as much as he could, and as much as they could understand. But, after some careful skirting around the question, he finally had to admit that his knowledge of hobbits was very limited. He had seen one once, long ago, but it had only been a brief glimpse and all he could remember was the overly-large, fur-covered feet. A hint of a shudder seemed to run through the tall Elf's body at the memory, but he had nothing further to say on the subject.

In the end, the women were happy to find out that, after Sauron's identity in Dol Guldur was revealed, the fortress was abandoned, the evil emanations dissipated, and the presence of the giant spiders had diminished dramatically, although, regrettably, not entirely. But the remaining nests were scattered, and did not present a danger to His Majesty's subjects at this time, as a rule. For the loathsome but crafty creatures had withdrawn down into hidden vales, and long forgotten holes, in an effort to escape the ever vigilant Elves that were determined to rid the forest of every one of their kind, eventually.

"And, they lie dormant in the winter and are most likely preparing for their long sleep as we speak." A welcome voice imparted this last bit of information. The Elfking had returned, with Uncle Dwain, and he smirked at Thaladir as he pretended he had caught his seneschal coming up short in his instructions. "You forgot to tell them that did you not?" All of the women agreed that this last should have been mentioned first.

The midday horns sounded, lunch was being served in the dining tent. As they rose to go eat, Milda and Ingarde declared that they had a lot more questions about the spiders, wargs, Elf lords, Istari, and hobbits, just to name a few. They were still a bit unnerved by the seneschal's horrific tale but wanted him to come to the tent with them, and continue his fascinating lesson.

But, Cella was too happy to see the handsome Elfking so soon again to care for any more lessons from Thaladir. She did not care anymore about what types of dangers she may face in His Majesty's Kingdom, as long as he was there. Her uncle offered his elbow to escort her to lunch, while Milda and Ingarde flanked the dubious seneschal, determined not to let him out of their sight until he had proffered up every last one of his secrets.

As they walked along, Uncle Dwain informed her that there was no reason to delay traveling on ahead to the caves. Especially if they were to arrive there before the flatboats did, in order to prepare the wine-cellar properly. From behind her, His Majesty spoke.

"Are you prepared to leave the vineyard and travel into my forest, Celiel? Spiders or no?"

"I am, Your Majesty." Nothing that she had learned that day had changed her mind about wanting to live with the Elves, in their beloved forest. 

"Very well," said the Elfking. "We shall proceed first thing in the morning, but tonight we shall make merry."

t b c

Author's postscript: Although I believe that Thranduil would have preferred to use the Sindarin version of Ungoliant, (translation: gloom weaver) which is Gwerlum, I decided to have him say Ungoliant because I believe that name might be more recognizable.


	17. Chapter 17?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 16

Among the workers and overseers of the vineyard, there was no more anxiety about unfinished tasks to attend to, it was time to relax and enjoy the remainder of the restful day. As Cella walked with her uncle on the now well-worn path from the vintner's shed to the dining tent, she saw workers sprawled out in the shade under the trees along the way.

The most exhausted were cat-napping, others were chatting, and a few were eating their lunch picnic style. But when they noticed the Elfking, his seneschal, and the newest court vintner, they all either stood, or at least sat up straighter, some poking at their dozing companions to alert them, and greeted the royal party respectfully. Milda and Ingarde stifled giggles at the blinking field hands who had opened their eyes to see His Majesty passing by, but were not fully awake enough to understand what they were seeing until it was too late to respond.

While seated in the cool shade beside the vintner's shed, where the morning sun had not reached and heated the area, Cella and the rest were unaware of how warm the day was until the mid-day meal horns had called them away from their Mirkwood history lesson. There had been no more rain since the big storm, and even though the weather had been mild and fair, there had been a touch of crisp chilliness in the air every day brought by northern breezes. But today the winds were coming from the south, and the hot, dry air felt more summer-like than not.

As they neared the tent, other workers joined them and chatted about the day's events and the successful wine-barrel loading operation. Inside, instead of sitting at separate tables, Elves and mortals were eating together, and overseers mingled with field hands. It was the last mid-day meal for most of them; the seasonal workers would be departing by the wagonload in the morning. There was somewhat of an impromptu party atmosphere in the dining-tent that reminded Cella of the night of the storm, except that the tables were not all crammed together, so it was easier for people to move about.

After promising to see them at the feast that evening, the Elfking had parted ways with Cella and her uncle at the dining-tent entrance. But his seneschal, Thaladir, remained with the diners, and sat at the same table with the two pressers, Milda and Ingarde, while deeply engrossed in tending to their further edification about the long battle the Elves had been fighting against all manner of evil entities throughout the ages. It made quite a picture, and more than a few field-hands who entered the tent had to do a double-take at the sight of the tall robed Elf, lecturing the two women on the topic of the flora and fauna of Mirkwood proper, while they sat on either side of him, absorbed completely.

Milda and Ingarde had to take small bites, and chew fast, in order to beat each other to the punch in their questioning of Lord Thaladir, as they referred to the tall Elf, who appeared increasingly flattered by the attention, although not entirely comfortable. And he learned not to pause long enough to give them any chance to prevent him from completing his thoughts.

Cella sat close enough to benefit from the history lessons from the seneschal, if history was the proper term. It seemed more like listening to the type of frightening stories that children tell each other late at night. At least as far as his descriptions about the myriad of deadly creatures the women had all previously been unaware of, safe and protected as they were in their human abodes by the Long Lake, or the inland sea, and far from the worries and cares suffered by the Elven foes of the Dark Lord. But mostly the stories were like fairy tales. But she was distracted by well-wishers who came to the table.

To her surprise, many fellow workers, men, women, Elves and Elleth, whom Cella had not thought paid her much heed in the vineyard, approached to greet both her and Uncle Dwain, and expressed gladness at seeing her out and about, and on such a fine day, too. To her relief, no one asked either why she had been missing, or of her whereabouts. Only a few were openly curious enough to scan her briefly, as if searching her for visible injuries. She wondered how much everyone knew about Gorst's attack, and realized that many of them were probably better informed, at least about the aftermath, than she was.

A couple of new vintner's assistants, men from the fields who had been brought in at the last to help Uncle Dwain cope with the hurried transfer of wines from casks to barrels, stopped by to have a few words with him and he praised them highly for their hard work. Casually, as if the most natural thing in the world to do, they asked Cella if she would dance with them that evening, if her uncle approved. She bit her lip for a moment as she wondered how to answer, but before she could even begin, she was overridden.

"Ah, now, I would love to see Cella dance tonight, lads," her uncle replied. "And I would lead her out to the first tune, if I thought I could get her to go. But, I am afraid..." And, while listening in mounting horror, she knew, she just knew, that he was going to launch into some embarrassing speech about her ability to dance being sadly hobbled by her overly shy nature. She took a deep breath and interrupted.

"Yes, I would dance with you, and you, too," she told the two smiling men. For several moments, after they had bid her a good day and moved along, she sat stunned at her own words, but felt absurdly pleased with herself. And then remorse set in, and she wondered if there was a way she could avoid the dancing altogether, without being rude. Perhaps tonight she could just say she was tired and then leave the feast before the music started. The thought alone calmed her, and she glanced at her uncle, who was smiling at her as if he had just been handed a sack filled with silver coins.

"Why Cella," he exclaimed. "You are as surprising today as you are lovely." He sounded absolutely tickled with her response. She knew her uncle was relieved by her unexpected reply. He had been so worried about her, even more than he always was, because of the attack and her immediate reactions afterwards. And now that it was happening, it was not as terrifying as she had imagined it might feel, to be the center of attention because of such a distressful event. At least no one had appeared to pity her, or blame her.

It occurred to her, as she sat among the very people she had thought she would never be able to face again, that she was not as uncomfortable as she had feared she would feel, just as it had been up inside the main house with the Elves. In fact, she felt comforted by the familiar faces around her, instead of afraid or concerned with their opinion about her. There was no other explanation for why she had spoken so boldly, even if she did feel a bit regretful about it.

As soon as everyone who had felt compelled to visit at their lunch table had settled down into their own seats, Cella finally reflected on how much she had been informed about what else had happened after the dreadful attack, which was very little. Not that she wanted to think about any of it, ever again.

"What about the Laketown's sheriff?" Cella asked her uncle on an impulse, but quietly, not wanting to draw attention. "Am I not supposed to talk with him before we leave for the caves?" Without looking at her face, he patted her hand, and assured her that she need not worry about talking to any one. She felt a weight lift from her, but was given pause by the way he would not look her in the eye. "Let's talk of more pleasant things over lunch," he added, and she agreed, but was determined to ask more from him later.

Without effort, Uncle Dwain started up a conversation with the other workers seated around him, including the seneschal and his two enthralled history students; about how the feast was finally going to be held that evening. The unusually warm day boded well for the delayed celebration. It would not have to be held under the tent tonight, but instead would be celebrated outdoors, as it was meant to be. And a merrier party was predicted than the first would have been, now that the entire wine-making operation had been wound up as well. Even Cella began to anticipate spending her last evening in the vineyard at the feast with all of the other workers.

Here, in the safety of the tent, maybe, it was easier for her to be among the male vineyard workers, with her uncle next to her and the Elfking returned from the Long Lake. She might feel differently tonight, but right now she felt that she was amongst good friends on all sides. That was enough for her; she decided to worry about the dancing part later.

Glawareth came to the table and asked if the women would like to come up to the gardens and pick fresh flowers for decorating the party grounds. Milda and Ingarde eagerly volunteered, and even managed to coax Thaladir to join them. It took some effort, what with explaining to him that his arms were the perfect size for holding long-stemmed bouquets, and strong enough to hold bountiful quantities, and reminding him that such service would be performed for the sake of the Elfking's very own Harvest Feast. His Majesty, they told him, would be doubly pleased, because he could continue his history lesson at the same time.

Struggling hard not to grin at the seneschal's defeat, Cella only asked for some time to change out of her new dress and into her work clothes first, and then she would love to join. She asked her uncle to come with her back to their home.

"It's good to see that Thaladir-chap unbend a bit, he's somewhat of a stiff character that one is." Uncle Dwain said as soon as they were out of earshot of the odd threesome, the two pressers and the tall Elf. "But he sure likes to talk, don't he now?"

As they walked along he told her how the seneschal had kicked up a bit of a fuss that night, when the Elfking brought Cella into his private rooms. "He didn't say anything outright, not in front of anyone, but I was walking down the stairs and overheard them on the landing. That Elf was mighty unhappy about you lying up in the King's bed, how it would look and all."

As unworldly as she might be, even Cella could see the seneschal's point. It distressed her to think about how she had been the cause of even a minor conflict between the Elfking and his most trusted advisor, as he had so stated today. But then her uncle brought it all into perspective.

"And then His Worship said, 'If Dwain does not believe that his niece is safe, he will give only half of his mind to his duties, and I need his entire mind at the present. Can you think of anywhere he would think she would be safer from harm?'" Her uncle chuckled as he recounted for her the difficulty Thaladir had in thinking of anywhere that anyone would be safer, and had to concede to his monarch that he could think of none, except for behind the great gates of their forest home.

Uncle Dwain had felt too guilty for eavesdropping to not bring attention to himself at that point, so Cella never heard any more about what the Elfking had to say about her presence in his bedchamber.

She tried not to feel crushed over the dubious honor she was shown because of her kinship to one of His Majesty's valuable employees. She was proud of her uncle's value in the vineyard, and knew the Elfking was right to treat her with such respect and careful regard because of it. But, still, even though she had already reasoned out the truth of the matter without assistance, it would have been nice to think...she knew not what, exactly. Only it would have been something more romantic than thinking the tender care she had received from Thranduil was just to guarantee that his wine fermentation cellars would be properly constructed.

Once they were back into their own little home, Cella could not remember why she had hesitated to return there. The Elfking's chambers were magnificent, true, and his canopied bed made her feel royal, that was without question. But she could not compare the way she felt while visiting there, as an invalid, with the way it felt to enter her room, and be surrounded again with her own things.

She had to resist the urge to collapse on the little bed for a nap; the warm day had made her feel that drowsy. Hurrying to keep herself alert, she changed into her blouse and skirt, and left the delicate dress on the same hook where her other one had hung. For some reason, it looked even more beautiful hanging there, as if by seeing it in her own room she was finally convinced that it was hers to keep.

It was only after her uncle had delivered her to the gardens, where Milda and Ingarde waited for her, that Cella remembered she had wanted to ask him about why the sheriff no longer wanted to speak to her. Somehow, now she was outdoors with her friends in the fragrant, colorful grounds, the sheriff and his questions no longer seemed that important.

The cooking staff had set up an open-air kitchen at the original party grounds, and the delicious scents they were producing assaulted Cella and her friends as they wheeled the barrows filled with flowers out to the open field. There was no massive roast boar slow-cooking in a pit today, but no one seemed to care as there were more than enough roast meats, and fowl, and every other type of delectable food that man or Elf enjoyed, being prepared

Off to one side, in the center of a bare patch of earth, the pile of debris for the bonfire still waited to be lit, and had only grown larger in the meanwhile. When the women and Ellith brought the flowers and branches for decorating the tables, several of the vineyard's men and Elves were there already, to prepare the field for the trestle tables and benches.

The day before, great scythes had been used to cut back whatever weeds and wild grasses had grown since the great rain, and today a great square was marked off and strewn with straw which was trampled down flat. Another large area was left bare in the middle and large, flat planks of wood were laid out there, and slotted in place to make a temporary dance floor. Around the outside edge of the great square, long trestle tables and benches were placed on the flattened straw. Cella figured that the Elves would rake up the straw tomorrow and burn it. They were so tidy.

When the sun began to hang lower, Cella and her friends left to change into their nicer dresses, but then had quickly returned to help cover the long tables. They were supplied with cloths that were used in the dining tent, which needed to be weighted down outdoors to keep them from flying off and away into the air when a gust of wind rippled through. A soft chattering noise came from what was left of the grapevines, made by the dried leaves and tendrils, further crisped by the day's beating sunshine, when stirred by the same breezes that flapped the tablecloths.

Ingarde wondered out loud where Thaladir had gotten himself off to after they had left him behind in the gardens. He had dutifully carried armloads of fresh-cut flowers to load the barrows they used to bring them to the tables. She had thought the seneschal would have come along to oversee all of the preparations; he was always such a constant presence for any other official activity.

When Cella mentioned that the tall Elf was probably lying down somewhere, with a cool cloth on his forehead; Ingarde put her hands on her hips and pulled a face at her. Milda neither noticed nor cared about the seneschal. Her potential dance partner, the nice young man she had spoken to during the night of the storm, had shown up to help them, and after a while she had stopped even pretending to be interested in the floral centerpiece she was working on while they chatted.

Cella began to think that she was going to be brave enough to stay for the dancing, after all. More men came along to help out and commented on the cleverly made dance floor. They expressed great admiration for the Elf musicians, too, having been at previous feasts in the vineyards. When asked outright if she was looking forward to the dancing, she truthfully responded that she would like to hear the music. But she did not think any of them were being anything other than friendly, and their queries about her participation seemed more polite than seductive. She felt flattered to think that they were asking because they might to want to dance with her, too.

More planks of wood were brought to form a raised platform in the center of the makeshift dance floor; this would be the stage for the musicians. As if on cue, a small group of Elves with instruments in hand appeared, obviously they had been nearby waiting for the opportunity to try out their little performance area for size. A couple of them were carrying small stools to sit on, and they spent a few moments setting up the most comfortable and practical seating arrangements.

One after another of the Elves began to tune their instruments, or to play them experimentally. While they did so, some of the workers called out to them to play a song for them to work by. As if on cue, the mild cacophony of musical notes settled into a festive tune, and even the most flat-footed among the crew of helpers was soon bouncing along in step to the rhythm. Some of the more courageous men swung women partners out onto the dancing platform, to test it, or so they said. Declaring herself too busy, Cella declined an offer, but she looked around for Milda in the hopes she would see her with her new beau on the dance floor.

The two of them were seated at one of the tables, and Cella could tell, from the exaggerated facial expressions and wiggled finger-gestures, that Milda was telling the man about the giant spiders of Mirkwood. He looked suitably impressed. She stood staring at them, hoping to catch her friend's eye and attention. Startled by a hand touching her elbow, she whirled to face the Elfking.

"Will you do me the honor?" he asked with a courtly bow and the same dazzling smile that dumbfounded her once before. He held his hand to her, and she reacted automatically. Without conscious thought or decision she put her own trusting hand in his and let him lead her onto the dance floor before she even knew what she had done.

The music changed as soon as the Elfking stepped onto the platform, from the merry quick tune, to a measured and formal melody. As Cella felt the music sweep them around the dancing area, while he guided her along, she no longer cared what she was doing, as long as it never ended. All thoughts of being watched, noticed, laughed at, or mocked, that she had always feared to face, disappeared into a blur, which turned to nothingness, and then nothing else existed. Except for the handsome face that smiled down at her, and the hands that propelled her so gracefully along.

"Ah," said the Elfking, "And so I finally have my answer. Such good feet dance as well as they run, if not better, just as your uncle said they would."

"Yes, Majesty," replied the starry-eyed Cella. Although she had not actually heard a word he had said.

t b c


	18. Chapter 18?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 18

It did not take very long for Cella to get over her breathless daze and attend to King Thranduil's words as they danced. She seemed to gain confidence as they moved across the floor in unison to the graceful music, and she neither stumbled over her own feet nor stepped on his boots. In fact, it did not feel as if she was moving at all, rather it seemed as if the rest of the world was a blur of motion that swirled around them, while they stood perfectly still in the center of it all, the calm eye of a whirling storm.

"Has my seneschal answered all of your questions adequately?" he asked. "Is there any thing else you want to know, about my forest and its misfortunes?" Without hesitation, Cella told him that the seneschal certainly had answered every question she had, as well as some she had not even thought to ask, and that she was looking forward to going to her new home in the caves the next day.

"Are you sure you have no other questions?" Although he sounded more polite than doubtful of the honesty of her reply, Cella obediently tried to think if there was anything she still wondered about the Elfking's forest realm. It was not possible to think at all, however, as long as he smiled at her in that way and she finally had to look away from him to clear her mind.

She was still a little curious about the furry-footed hobbits, but had been satisfied from the tall Elf's report that they posed no danger to mortal maids, and doubted if questions about such harmless-sounding creatures was what the Elfking was asking her about. Facing him again, Cella said that she was as fully informed as a person could possibly be about her new living situation.

"Good. Now, according to your uncle," he said, "it seems there was a sad misunderstanding about where you were going, when I told you I was sending you away with him." She nodded in reply. It seemed funny now, to think of how she had assumed the worst at the time. And then he asked, unexpectedly, "Do you forgive me?" Although his tone was light, almost playful, his expression was serious, as if he thought there was some doubt in the matter of his forgiveness.

"Do I? Forgive you?" Bemused momentarily by his words, Cella smiled up at her regal dancing partner. A familiar-sounding laugh drew her attention to a couple who were at a little distance from them, and she saw her friend Milda being twirled around the dance floor by her new beau.

Seeing her friend in the growing crowd of dancers, and hearing her happy laughter, was an emboldening experience. Cella thought about how one of her saucy friends would answer the question. Then she looked back into the Elfking's eyes and spoke quickly before she lost her nerve.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she replied as boldly as she could manage. "I would forgive you, but my distress was such that I must demand a forfeit." His eyebrows lifted at her answer, but he chuckled pleasantly, and his smile was kind when he replied.

"Most certainly, I agree, a forfeit is in order," he said. "Very well, and what does the sorely offended lady request?" Now that she was being called on her bluff, she could not speak. She knew what she wanted, but she could never say so to him. "Now, now, come out with it," he coaxed. "What is the matter, Celiel? Has the cat got your tongue?" She had to giggle; it was something her uncle would say to her as a child when she was introduced to strangers. It helped, at least she could speak.

"No, Majesty, I was just being...," she was going to say 'silly' but could not bring herself to say that to the noble Elfking, who was treating her with sincere courtesy. She looked down at his chest as she continued, convinced he would know she was lying if he looked into her eyes, "I was... I don't really want anything. And you have been too generous as it is. You are certainly forgiven."

"I do not believe you," he replied tautly. "Look at me." She did. "Now tell me what you most desire." His voice was low-pitched and intimate. At her waist, she could feel his fingers pressing her closer to him. Cella felt her face grow warm, and her breath grow short, not only at his words and the touch of his hand, but at the light that seemed to ignite in his gaze upon her, sending a warm thrill down to her toes. And she felt the truth being drawn from her lips, involuntarily, like water through a wick, as he stared down at her.

"A kiss," she said, to her own surprise. But he did not seem the least taken aback by her answer. However, for her part, she was cringing inside after admitting out loud such a childish fancy, and wished she could take it back. She did have to look away from him again, as his eyes seemed to have a power she could not resist, and that confused her as much as it warmed her. He remained silent for a few moments as they moved over the dance floor, the swaying rhythm seemed to be all that was holding her upright.

"You should set a higher price on your forgiveness, firiel," he said at last. "Surely you can think of something with more value as a forfeit?" His voice was kind, gentle, and not the least condescending. She felt only slightly less ridiculous while she shyly shook her head from side to side, but she could not say another word.

Too soon, and sadly, the beautiful song stopped and the impromptu dancing was over. The Elf musicians were being shooed off of their little stage by Glawareth and a few other Ellith, who wanted to decorate what little room was left for them on the small platform with arrangements of berry-covered branches and flowers.

The Elfking released Cella from his arms, but still held her hand as they stood on the dance floor. Around them, she could tell that the last touches were being made to the tables, and food was being laid out, the fragrance of the meats and other delectable foods floated across the entire field.

"Celiel." She tipped her head up slantways and peeked at him. He bent over and pressed his lips on her temple, bestowing what would appear to everyone as a chaste kingly blessing upon her. "Now," he said as he stood straight again, "am I forgiven?"

If she had an ounce of nerve left in her body, she would have liked to have said he was not. But, instead, she nodded, unable to do more for the moment. The skin tingled where his lips had touched her forehead. Mutely, she allowed herself to be led by him from the dance floor and delivered to her uncle's side. He must have been standing there for a while, Cella realized, from the look of satisfaction on his face.

"Well, Your Worship," her uncle said to the Elfking, his voice full of both pride and gratitude, "I had always heard that Elves had magic beyond the ken of common folk, and now I've seen it with my own eyes. Cella dancing." He beamed at her, "And in the broad light of day. Sheer magic." For once, his words did not embarrass her, she had already done too good of a job of that herself.

The happy man shook his head in wonder. He had grasped Cella's hand as he spoke, which she was grateful for. It helped to have her uncle there as an anchor. She had not yet come all the way back to terms with gravity.

"No, it was not magic, not Elf magic at least," said Thranduil to Uncle Dwain. "Unless you are referring to the magic that lies within every dance melody." He smiled down at Cella as he continued, "I merely captured a bit of it for my own purposes." With a gallant bow, he thanked her for the dance, and left her with her uncle.

Within moments, Milda and Ingarde were at their sides. They gushed over how romantic it was that the Elfking had ambushed and tricked her into dancing with him. Uncle Dwain had come along when they were already out on the floor, and he chuckled as Ingarde described the stunned look on his niece's face when the monarch had reached out his hand to her.

Milda had missed that part, but she was not very regretful. She had been getting to know her man friend better at the time, which she wanted them to know. But she had seen the dancing part, at least some of it. And she figured that if Cella was ever going to dance at all, from the way she always talked about it as if it was a form of torture, then it was going to have to take something like a royal command to get her to do so.

"What was that like, to dance with the King Elf?" she asked. "I swear you looked like you were floating on a cloud." To Cella's eyes, Milda did not look as her own feet had quite touched the ground either, after dancing with her nice young man.

Not to be outdone, Ingarde declared that she had almost, once again, died. Or at least that was how it had felt, she said with both of her hands on her chest, to see Cella in the arms of the fierce Elfking, who did not look so scary anymore, come to think of it. She did not know how she would have reacted, if she had been the one he had approached. Milda told her that she probably would have really, finally, died.

Although Milda was still giggling and flushed with excitement from her own dancing experience, Ingarde grew serious. But it was not because of what Milda had said to her. She turned to Cella's uncle.

"I heard tell there's something going on at Lake Town, something bad," she said. Cella froze at her friend's words, because as Ingarde spoke, her eyes had moved back and forth between her and her uncle, as if the something bad she referred to had to do with them. "With Gorst's kinfolk," she added, ominously. "I heard they are kicking up a fuss, trying to rile up the town about the Elves here."

Uncle Dwain's face grew sober as he replied to Ingarde, "What goes on yonder in Laketown is for the Sheriff and his constabulary to take care of, and they have sworn to do just that." He replied flatly, as if the subject was now closed to further discussion.

"No, Uncle," said Cella, worried, "I insist that you tell me what is going on. I know that you know something." Instead he patted her hand, and tried to change the subject, again. But she stopped him. "Don't treat me like I am still a child, Uncle. If I have to live with giant spiders and wild warg-wolves, and not feel afraid, then I can hear the truth about Gorst's kin." Uncle Dwain sighed and glanced briefly at the three women, as if trying to decide how much he should say.

The horns signaling the feast sounded, the clear beautiful notes singing across the vineyard. There were not many vineyard workers left who had not already been drawn to the tables by the music and aroma that emanated from the outdoor kitchen. Cella was surprised to see how much had been done while she had been dancing. The tables were beautiful, with the floral arrangements set on top of each one and garlands looped along the edges. Torches had been placed in tall holders, but were left unlit for the time being. The cooks stood proudly at the banquet table, which seemed to bow in the middle from the weight of the platters and bowls and serving trays piled with succulently fragrant foods.

Cheerful, chattering people were directed by Elves to line up in front of some freshly uncorked wine barrels, set up to one side, where they were each issued a bowl of wine. It was the same vintage, purchased from the Laketown wine merchant, that had made Cella's head swim on the night of the storm. But she was not going to be deterred by the feast; she asked her uncle again about what Ingarde had heard tell. Quietly, she gestured to her friends to leave her with him, and they hurried over to join the lines while she stayed with her uncle.

"You are a grown woman, now, Cella," said her uncle after Milda and Ingarde had gone. "I never meant to treat you like you're not, but, perhaps this can wait? I don't want to spoil the feast for us." She could tell it was taking a toll on him. It was always an effort for him to tell her unpleasant news and she loved him for his protective nature. But she was afraid for the Elfking, and all the Fair Folk, and needed to know about the threats that had been made against them before she would sit to eat.

Her uncle seemed almost relieved to finally confide in her, after he finally began. When he spoke to her about what he had learned that day from the Elfking, he did so as if she were his equal, instead of like she was still a little girl who needed to be guarded from all evil notions. Gorst's kinfolk were not in the least satisfied with the outcome of the Long Lake Town Sheriffs investigation into his murder, at least that is how they termed it. They did not believe that he had attacked anyone; he had no history of ever having done so before and they wanted satisfaction. Uncle Dwain hesitated, not willing to continue until Cella insisted even more firmly than before.

"There's talk going on, filthy talk," he reluctantly admitted to her with disgust in his voice. Haltingly, he reported there was a rumor circulating amongst the more ignorant people in the town, about her being a special pet of the Elfking, and that the hot-tempered warrior Elf had accidentally caught Gorst in the act with her. Again he stopped. "Cella, there are some people in that town with very low minds."

Mercifully, she let him continue without asking for the whole ugly truth this one time, he had said enough for her to fill in the blanks in his story. She was seen as some sort of a loose woman, in service to the vineyard's royal employer, she understood. Perhaps seen as deserving of Gorst's unwanted advances. Since she knew that was not the truth, she did not feel as upset as her uncle seemed to think she might be.

Grateful to be allowed to skip over the details of what was being speculated about her, her uncle told her that Gorst's kin had gone to the Sheriff and demanded, Cella was alarmed to hear, that he order she be brought into the town to answer their questions. The Elfking had learned of this while he was making arrangements for the barrels to be shipped to his caves and had informed the lawman that under no circumstances would he allow her to be brought near any of those people for any reason, whatsoever. Hearing this, she felt a wave of grateful relief wash over her.

"So, that is the story, brother-daughter, as plain as I could make it for you." Cella was satisfied that Uncle Dwain was telling her the truth and felt less anxious now that he was done. It made sense to her why he had not wanted to tell her anything, let alone as much as he had. She was uncomfortable with the idea that complete strangers had passed such an evil judgments on the Elfking's and her reputation, people who did not know either one of them.

Her uncle started to guide her to the line in front of the barrels and she saw that the tall Elf, Thaladir, was standing beside the wine as if supervising the whole operation, which he probably was. She was surprised that Milda and Ingarde were not on either side of him, drilling him with their questions. The patience of these Elves was a marvel to her.

"But, wait a minute" she said, standing still again. "What did Ingarde mean about Gorst's kinfolk causing trouble for the Elves?" Although she was certain that the vineyard was well-guarded, even when there were no such rumors in the area, it disturbed her to think anyone would hold any malicious thoughts towards the Fair Folk, who were the most honorable beings she had ever had the privilege to know. Her uncle sighed.

"Just a lot of hot-headed ignorant talk, Cella," he reassured her and then gently tugged her forward. "By a handful of trouble-makers. Don't you worry; that seneschal fellow told me that it was obvious how most of the townsfolk despise Gorst's kin and cohort as much as they despised him." At most, he continued as they approached the wine barrels, the hostile talk would hover in the air for a while until hard winter set in and then would die down, at least that is what her uncle believed. She had to be satisfied with his answer because she was not willing to travel to the town by the Lake to find out for herself.

While they stood in line, waiting for their wine bowls, Cella saw the Elfking approaching his seneschal. She smiled to see him but, when he glanced toward her direction, she looked away, still unwilling to be caught staring at him. From behind her, a familiar jolly voice spoke.

"Master Dwain, how do you fare this fine evening?" It was Himbor, the overseer, and Lanthiriel was on his arm. Cella did not see his sister, Glawareth, but she was sure the Elleth was nearby; she had been the chief organizer for the decorations all that day. "Or should I say, Lord Dwain?" the Elf added with a twinkle in his merry eyes. "Royal Court Vintner now, did I hear?" Her uncle nodded and laughed at the title, but she could see how he puffed up a little to hear it. She felt a grin tug her mouth up at the corners.

"And how are you, Cella?" Himbor asked. "It is good to see you here tonight, you look well." She smiled at him; he was always so pleasant to be near. Lanthiriel quietly greeted them both just as Thaladir walked up and asked the whole little group to come with him; they would be served wine separately from the rest of the guests.

A bit mystified, Cella followed the tall robed Elf as he took them to the main table at the opposite end to the food-covered one, where they were seated as guests of honor. She realized it must be due to the announcement that was to be made about her uncle's new status in the Royal Court, and she felt thrilled at the honor being shown to him, he deserved it. Instead of being served from a barrel, there were large ceramic jugs filled with ruby-red wine set out for them, and serving Elves hastened to fill their bowls for them.

Another round of horn calls silenced the noisy crowd, and the Elfking strode out to the center of the dance floor to stand on the raised platform for the musicians. They were all standing in a line alongside the stage, instruments in hand, waiting for their turn. The sun was just about to set, and the few clouds that flecked the sapphire sky turned purple and scarlet in the glow from its final light. Thranduil lifted the large bowl in his hand to the crowd.

Solemnly, the Elfking expressed his gratitude to the sun, the land, the seasons, and the Valar, for the many blessings each had bestowed upon his vineyard. Then he thanked the workers for their efforts, reminding them of how they had kept their heads during the storm, and saved nearly the whole crop in the meantime. Everyone cheered to hear it again, it still seemed impossible that they had done so. After a moment, the crowd quieted again while the monarch stood and waited calmly for them to do so.

"And now," he said with a smile, "It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you all the newest member of my Royal Court…" While Cella listened to her uncle's new position being announced, she could not help but notice that there was something agonizingly familiar about the aroma, or bouquet, that rose from her wine-bowl to tickle her nose to the point of distraction. What was it that the fragrance of this wine reminded her of, and so strongly that she nearly felt tears in her eyes?

The Elfking finally lifted his bowl to his lips, and drank from it. Accordingly, the group of feasting workers, and the Elves from the main house, joined him in the toast. As soon as Cella tasted the wine, she knew exactly what the aroma reminded her of, her former home by the inland sea.

"Brother-daughter," said her uncle, his voice hoarse with emotion, "this is my wine." He stared down at his bowl in astonishment. She could see him struggling to keep his emotions under control at the shock from tasting his own grapes again.

"I know, uncle," she said back to him, using a teasing manner to help calm him. "I think I knew before you did, too." But he barely seemed to hear her.

"I remember this year," he said, but could not say anymore.

"As do I, or at least the year it was purchased from your vineyard," said the Elfking, who had joined the table while the two of them were preoccupied with their memories. "And this is the last of my private reserve; I had it brought here shortly after you arrived." He raised his own bowl again, in a private toast meant only for his newest Court Vintner. "Hail to you, Dwain, son of Dake. You are a genius at your craft and a man of great character. I will never regret the day you showed up at my gates."

As Cella drank to her uncle, she decided she did not care about being more careful with her wine bowl this time, after all. And even though she had always thought she did not like the taste of wine, for once she thought it was the most delicious tasting substance that was ever made by the hand of man. The musicians were playing something soft and unobtrusive while the feast commenced. Still to come was the bonfire, and then the dancing.

She was looking forward to all of it.

t b c


	19. Chapter 19?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 19

For the dessert course, after the main meal had been served, eaten, and cleared away, trays were brought to the tables that were filled with stacks of iced pastries or small bowls containing berries and slices of fruit. Cella was not sure if she could tuck one more piece of food into her overstuffed self, after the sumptuous feast, but she took some of the fruit and nibbled at it politely. The quiet background music the Elf musicians had been playing throughout the meal became merrier and quicker.  
  
Torches that had been placed at a slight distance behind the tables were lit during the feast, while the dusky evening light turned to deeper shade. The dance floor and musicians' stage were only dimly lit from their flickering glow. Now, along with the changing nature of the melody, another set of torches, placed inside the square made by the long tables, at the four corners of the stage and at equal distances along the sides, were lit to illuminate the dancing area.

This seemed to be a signal that the first stage of the feast was finished. As the meal drew to a close, and the next part of merry-making was about to begin, Cella could hear the happy chatter and laughter at the tables grow louder and even more excited. As soon as all the torches were lit, the music changed again to a dance tune that was familiar to human ears, but with unique Elven styling that made it even more irresistible. She saw a few couples step out on the floor.

Beside her, Uncle Dwain slowly wiped his mouth with his napkin, folded it neatly, and set it across his plate with the studied carefulness of a man who has had a little more wine to drink with his supper than usual. The last of the Elfking's private stock had flowed freely from the jugs during the meal. Then the man stood up and gallantly bowed to his niece.

"Brother-daughter, I may not look as elegant on my feet as the King here," her uncle gestured at the Elfking, who nodded back graciously at the compliment, before he continued, "but, will you dance with your old uncle tonight?"

Even though, despite the Elfking's magic, Cella still felt she had not truly conquered her nervousness about making a display of herself, she could not turn her uncle down on such a special occasion for him. Not in front of the others at the King's table. But, after she rose, she felt more proud than shy to take his arm and be led to the dance floor, although she still felt awkward at first.

"Pinch me, Cella," said her uncle in a voice so ragged and weak it alarmed her. He looking dazed to the point of stupefaction. "I think I must be asleep and dreaming; this just can't be true." Quickly, she reached up to grab his cheek between her forefinger and thumb. Then he shook his head, as if waking up from a sound sleep, and grinned at her. She realized with relief that he was play-acting to make her laugh, and it worked.

"Your father would be so happy to see you like this, child," he said, and she stopped laughing, but did not feel the usual sharp edge of pain that normally came along with thoughts of her parents. Almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to her, Uncle Dwain added, "And wouldn't he be envious of us both, to be traveling along with the Elves into their forest."

It was not a question, really, but she agreed that he would. Then added that she thought perhaps her father was watching out for both of them, from wherever in the great Halls of Mandos his soul resided with all the rest of those who had passed on to await their eventual fates. And Cella did think that her parents would be happy, if they could see her with her uncle this night, as she looked around her and saw all the workers and Elves from the vineyard enjoying each others company out on the dance floor.

Only a few of the vineyard Elves danced with the mortals, but some, such as the overseer, Himbor, asked Cella to dance as a matter of courtesy toward her uncle, or so she felt. The graceful Elves seemed to tolerate the clumsier humans who danced around them, with both alertness and good humor. With light-footed ease they managed to avoid many collisions during the quick-stepping tunes.

The assistant vintners, as promised, came to the table to ask for her company on the dance floor, one after the other. Seeing them, she remembered how she thought she would leave the feast early, to avoid them both, after promising she would dance with them. But she accepted their invitations gladly; she was having more fun than she realized there was to be had.

After that, other workers from the vineyard did not even let her sit back down before approaching her for a dance, all of them polite and in a very gentlemanly fashion, in deference, she supposed, to her uncle's position, or perhaps in fear of the Elfking's watchful eye. Breathlessly, after a half-dozen turns, she protested finally, and claimed the need to sit and rest for a song or two, before she could take one more step.

After she had caught her breath, the Elfking asked her to dance again, for the second time that day, when the music had slowed to a milder melody, and she had been much happier with her performance as they moved together through the crowd. Even though her uncle's wine made her head swim a bit, she managed to behave much more like a lady than she had earlier that day, and less like a shy and foolish adolescent.

He asked her if she was enjoying his feast and she assured him that she indeed was, more than she had ever thought possible. She thanked him for the honor he had showed her uncle, too, and the nice surprise with the wine from their vineyard by the inland sea. And she thanked him, one more time, for asking his seneschal to teach her some of the history of her new home in the his great forest.

"I did think of another question I have wanted to ask, Your Majesty," Cella told him. "But it was not something that I could ask Lord Thaladir today." It was something that she had been wondering about for days now, but had not had the opportunity to ask when she thought of it, and had not thought of it when she had the chance. And she probably could have asked the seneschal, but she wanted to ask Thranduil instead.

"Speak," said the Elfking, "I will answer if I am able," Although it was a new sensation to be talking so casually with the same monarch who she had once seen as formidable, and frightening, she was glad to have the chance to finally clear up a matter that had puzzled her when she was alone, and had time to think. It had to do with her attack, at least its immediate aftermath.

"That night, with Gorst, when you found me, out in the vineyard..." she stopped for a moment, finding it was not that easy to talk about those events as she had thought it would be. Not even in this merry atmosphere, and in the arms of the Elfking, who she knew would let no harm befall her. Because as she spoke, she also remembered the terror she had felt in those last moments, and her throat seemed to close up and her chest felt tight, as if she could not breathe correctly.

"I am listening," he prompted her gently. She breathed in deeply and tried again. Instead of remembering Gorst's face above her, she remembered the Elfking's instead, and the relief she had felt, and the confusion.

"When you came and found me," she finally managed to say. "You said I had called you." Cella shook her head at him. "But I did not call you; there was a rag in my mouth." She had taken his words literally and thought he must have heard something, he would not lie about that, but it could not have been her voice.

"I suppose in that instance I was using what your uncle would refer to as Elf-magic." He quirked a corner of his mouth upon saying so, and she could tell that the idea amused him. "Although I do not see it as such, at least not true magic such as the Istari evoke at will. But I have learned that such a skill is beyond the ken of most common folk, as your uncle would say, this ability to perceive the minds of others from a distance, and their thoughts. Such are the gifts of the Valar; they appear as magic to the eyes mortal man."

As he spoke, Cella felt a little lost, but also honored that the handsome Elfking spoke to her nearly as an equal. Until the significance of his words came clear; then she felt afraid.

"You can read minds?" Her heart was banging in her chest as she tried to remember every single thing she had ever thought about the Elfking, and she wondered why she had not yet fainted on the spot. But, to her relief, he told her not to fear, he was no eavesdropper. He could only know those minds that reached out to him, voluntarily, as she had done. With a mild shock of realization, she knew exactly what he was talking about. That night, when Gorst had fallen on her, she had deliberately wished for the King to rescue her again, but with little hope that he would come.

"I pictured your face, and as clearly as I could, too," she said with awe. "In my mind. I guess I did call you." He nodded. And she felt relieved because it made sense that he would only hear, if hearing was the proper term, those who needed his assistance. But now she seemed to have many more questions, and she felt brave enough to ask them. Such as what it was like, to be able to read minds. And could he read anyone's?

"With mortals, what I perceive is more like what you described, pictures, or symbols. The mind of man is rarely still long enough to form, let alone send to me, a clear thought that can be read. It is quite usual for me to know the thoughts of my woodland subjects, when they have a need for my attention. And they depend on my ability to do so, especially in times of personal danger or travail, and do not feel violated. For they know they can protect their minds from me when they desire privacy. And that is what is making you feel uneasy."

With a start, she realized that was true, she still felt very uncomfortable, despite his assurances.

"Did you just read my mind?" she asked, a bit fearful of his response.

"No, it was not necessary," he replied with a warm chuckle. "Your fears are written clearly in your eyes, and on your face. But, do not fear me, Celiel, I am no sorcerer. Your mind is safe from me. It will always be your choice for me to know your thoughts."

Cella hoped that was true, but the dance was finished, and the Elfking took her back to her uncle's side without speaking any more on the subject. The musicians were leaving the stage, after promising the dancers who cried out in complaint that they would return before too long. Uncle Dwain was laughing with Himbor, and his cheeks were flushed and rosy-looking from the wine.

Not wanting to sit, Cella looked around for a familiar face and, after spotting Ingarde, told her uncle not to worry; she was going to go and talk with her friends for a while. He was glad to let her go out into the crowd and show off her new social skills, which she would rather he had not mentioned out loud. Mostly she wanted a few moments to herself to think about what she had just learned and to marvel over learning that she had been involved with Elf-magic, even if it was not real magic.

Ingarde had danced with some of the Elves as well as a few of the men, and was in very happy spirits. According to her, Milda had stayed partnered exclusively with her nice young man. Ingarde thought he was possibly a fine catch, if he was the type who would settle down and build a little house for the two of them to live in, and rescue Milda from her parents' home, which she thought was unlikely. She felt smug about her stable-owning fellow back home by the Lake, but looked a bit envious of her joyful friend who at least had someone to hold on to tonight.

While the musicians took their break, the two women sat together on the edge of the performance stage, with several other pressers who would be leaving the next day, and talked about the feast. Many of the dancers returned to the wine barrels to quench their well-earned thirsts. Cella had gone back to the main table for her own bowl and shared some of the Elfking's private vintage with Ingarde, who was impressed. And even more so when she learned it had come from Uncle Dwain's vineyard.

"How come your uncle never married?" Ingarde asked her. "He is such a good man, it seems a pity somehow." A few of the unmarried pressers agreed with her, and Cella marveled to think of Uncle Dwain as a fine catch.

"He is married," said Cella, and then had to laugh at the women's' surprised faces. With a sweeping gesture that took in the entire vineyard, she explained, "He is married to the land, and the grapes, and the wine." Ingarde nodded that she understood, and then shook her head while complaining at the waste of a good man to plant life. The others agreed.

But in a way, Cella knew that was not the whole answer, although it was close enough to the truth. She knew her uncle worked hard because he had her to take care of, and had sworn to her that he would always do so, and as well as he knew how. But, even so, she knew that any woman who loved her uncle would have to play second-fiddle to the fruits of the vine, for as long as he had the strength to tend to them. Even if he did not have his niece to support.

Her uncle had returned to sit at the King's table after he had danced with her, where the monarch had also mostly remained seated after the feasting had started, except for when he had asked her to dance. Cella had paid careful attention to Thranduil and was glad he had not gotten up to dance with anyone else, but tried not to make too much of his having only asked her, as it was probably just courteous behavior. For her uncle's behalf and amusement.

She wondered if he normally sat through his feasts but was leery about asking Ingarde, in case such a question was taken the wrong way. Milda joined them, breathless and happy, her face shining from the exercise, and told them it was almost time to light the bonfire.

"Where's your new dancing partner?" asked Ingarde, and Milda pointed to the line at the barrels, where the young man stood with two bowls in his hand, waiting to have them filled. He was looking their way, and lifted one of the empty bowls in acknowledgement of their attention on him, when they turned in his direction. Cella could tell even from afar that he was smitten with her bold-tongued friend by the way he focused on her alone, and smiled. His name, they learned, was Willem, and he lived with his two brothers, who were not vineyard workers, beside the Long Lake.

Milda told them that he was located surprisingly near her parents' house, and they had already made plans to travel to their homes together in the same wagon on the morrow. Willem was saving his money to buy his own land, but was not going to grow grapes on it. Instead he was going to raise livestock, his own life-long dream. Her eyes glowed and Cella could tell she had mentally built her own little home with him and surrounded it with farm animals. When the young man finally returned, with refilled bowls in hand, he told the women that the bonfire was going to be lit now, and they should hurry to get a good view.

Everyone was moving toward the pile of debris that had been cleverly fashioned to mimic the shape of the Lonely Mountain, which stood off like an enormous sentry in the distance. But, suddenly feeling anxious, Cella stayed seated and waited for the crowd to thin so she could spot her uncle, who she was sure would try to locate her, too. Bonfires made her feel uneasy, as did any kind of large fire, except for those contained in a hearth or a stove, nice and manageable. She would be happier to stay as far as possible from it, and saw no reason to draw closer.

As she had expected, her uncle stepped from the swarming crowd and saw her, lifting his hand in a wave, and she stayed where she was as he came to sit beside her. She hoped he did not expect her to join those who gathered in front of the bonfire pile. He picked up one of her hands and held it, patting it gently.

"Sitting here was a good choice. We can see the blaze just fine, I believe." His voice was cheerful, and he spoke as if she had come up with a novel idea. She knew better, but agreed with him, and added that it was nicer to be able to sit here at a distance, to have a clearer view. Back home, when the harvest feast's bonfires were lit, Cella usually went back into the main house.

Several other vineyard workers, seeing them sitting there, joined Cella and her uncle, and commented that it was much nicer to sit than to stand, especially after all the dancing had tired their legs. And they would not smell like smoke afterwards. Cella wondered how many of them were like her, and not willing to be too near open flames for any reason.

Gasps of awe and whoops of excitement greeted the lighting of the huge pile of logs and branches, as it was engulfed in flames in a great, noisy brilliant burst of orange and red light. From this vantage point, the large blazing structure resembled some kind of monster standing there, roaring with rage, and with flickering waves of flame where hair would otherwise grow. A song was being sung by some of the workers who encircled the bonfire, with their arms on each other's shoulders.

Cella shifted uneasily when the smell of the smoke reached them where they sat. But she knew it was going to burn itself out quickly, the fuel was so dry after sitting in that day's hot sun. Her uncle squeezed her hand, and she smiled in gratitude, happy that he had found her in time to be with her. And she was even more pleased that he did not try to coax her into joining the festive crowd in front of the bonfire.

With the pause to witness the lighting of the fire the only major interruption, the music and dancing lasted far into the night. Again, Cella found herself in great demand on the dance floor. And now that she had overcome her fear, and found out how much fun it could be, she felt as if she would never tire of stepping and twirling to the magical music the Elves played. The bowl of her uncle's heady vintage certainly helped give her the extra bit of courage she had needed at the very first, but after the musicians returned, and the fire had died down to the point that it no longer worried her, she looked forward eagerly to whoever was going to ask her next.

At last she was returned to the main table and would not return back to the floor, no matter who asked her. Uncle Dwain was slumped over slightly in his chair, the victim of his own hands, sound asleep from drinking his wine. She tried to shake him awake, but the combination of the potent vintage, the hard work from the night before, and not enough sleep for the last few days, had sent him far too deeply asleep to be roused easily by her timid little hand.

"Wake up, Uncle," she said to the snoring man as she patted his face "Oh dear, how am I ever going to get you into your bed?" Dawn was not that far off, now, and Cella felt weary, but in a good way. For a moment, she considered leaving her uncle where he sat sleeping, and go off to her own bed.

"Here, let me assist you," said the Elfking, rising from his seat. With ease, he was able to draw her uncle up to his feet, without waking him it seemed, and get him into an upright position. With Cella on the slumbering man's other side, they walked him toward the main house. Uncle Dwain was able to stumble along; his steps were graceless and clumsy, as if he was sleep-walking, but mostly he was a dead weight that they were forced to keep propped up. At one point he opened a bleary eye and looked around him, before closing it again and letting his head droop to one side.

"I think that Uncle Dwain needs to sleep in his own bed tonight, My Lord," said Cella as they drew close to the landing of the mansion. The thought of helping her uncle navigate the few steps up to the main entrance was daunting enough, but the long staircase up to the royal bedchamber was clearly out of the question. "He needs to stretch out and get a good rest."

"I agree," said the Elfking. Cella knew this meant that she would be back sleeping in her own room tonight, also. She felt a little sad to give up the luxuries of the regal chambers, but more at ease about the way it would look to everyone else, as they headed down the final corridor to their private residence. And she found it fitting that she and Uncle Dwain stay in their cozy little house together, during their last night here.

After they had deposited her uncle in his bed, fully clothed, snoring loudly, and lying on top of the covers, Cella saw Thranduil to the door to bid him goodnight. She was happily exhausted, after all the dancing and other exciting events of that night, and ready to crawl under her own covers as soon as possible. She stood before the open door, and was startled when the Elfking closed it from the inside, without going out. He stood silent, with an inscrutable expression on his face, his eyes glittering mysteriously, for several moments.

"What is it, Sire?" she asked.

"There is one small matter I must attend to, before I leave," he answered quietly.

"Majesty?" She shivered, not from cold, but from being this close to the Elfking, alone, and with no Uncle Dwain between them anymore. He lifted his hand and touched her face where Gorst's knife had scratched her, and she stood still as a statue.

"You did not receive the proper forfeit you asked for this afternoon, I believe." His hand moved down her face, the large fingers curving as they traveled beneath her jaw to cup her chin and tilt it up toward him. "It is time for me to remedy that," he added, although he spoke in vain, for her heart was pounding too loudly for her to hear him clearly.

And then he lowered his handsome face to hers, and kissed her.

t b c


	20. Chapter 20?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 20

The king's mouth was warm, his lips moved gently, and Cella's breath was taken from her. He broke away, removed his hand from her chin, and stroked her hair as she stood staring up at him, not believing he was real. Or that he had just kissed her; it could not be possible. Unconsciously, she pressed her fingers to her lips as if by doing so she could capture the way the kiss had felt on her mouth and keep it there.

"Now," he said. "Am I forgiven?" For several heartbeats she could not answer, not even the strong wine had been as disorienting to her mind as that kiss had been.

"Of course you are forgiven, you always were," she said at last, not certain if he was serious, but somehow knowing he had not kissed her for her pardon alone, and the thought warmed her. "You have done nothing to be forgiven for," she added, echoing back his words to her from the day she had thought he was sending her away from him.

"I have much to be forgiven for, Celiel." His voice was serious now. "Not the least of which is indulging myself by granting your true desire." She gasped at his words, so he had known her thoughts today, although he had said he did not.

"You did read my mind!" More than being shocked at an invasion of her privacy, Cella was astonished that he had told her he only knew what she was thinking if she chose for him to know. Had he lied about that?

"No, firiel, I did not read your mind. Your disappointment at the way you were kissed earlier was written in your eyes, as plain as if you spoke. You are an open book, because you have nothing to hide." As he continued, his eyes lost the intriguing light that had pierced her soul, and grew dark.

"And I was wrong to come here, where I knew I would be alone with you. I have sworn to protect you from those who can not control their own desires."

She only heard what she wanted to hear. Did he mean that he desired her? Cella did not know exactly what was involved in satisfying the desires of men, or Elves. But the Elfking's kiss had ignited a flame deep within that melted away any resistance she ever had against exploring further what there was to learn about it. Right now. Impulsively, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again.

Boldly, she pressed her body against his and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull his face closer to her. But the Elfking broke free from her, unwound her arms, and held her hands in his, between them.

"No, Celiel, this must go no further," his voice stern now. "Truly, I was not acting wisely, or in your best interest. Your innocence has... beguiled me." He backed away from her, with regret in his eyes, before adding, "But this can go no further, at least not here, like this." Before she could make any protest, he released her hands, and, with his usual swiftness, left the house.

For a long while, Cella stood, with her head pressed against the closed door, and tried to come to an understanding of what had just happened. At first, she did not think at all, or could not. She pressed her hand against her lips and remembered the sensations he had evoked, and his scent, and his voice. But then her dizzy head began to clear, and she considered his words. His final tone was full of reason, propriety, and the need for self-control, when she had wanted passion and immediate gratification of unnamable desires.

Cella felt as if her heart would break just moments after she learned what it was capable of feeling. Not here, he had said, and not like this. What had he meant? Hot tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill, but did not when she thought about his words more carefully. She was a temptation to him, that much was clear, but he would not take advantage of her eagerness to do anything to please him.

He wanted to be alone with her, but would deny himself, to protect her. It did not seem fair, what about her feelings and her own...desires? She groaned to think of how he would probably keep himself far removed from her now, and knew she could not stand for that to happen.

In desperation, she tried to summon him to her, on purpose, by picturing his face and begging him silently to return, and help her to lose her innocence. She no longer wanted it, had no use for it, but only wanted him to kiss her again and again, into senselessness. But she knew he would not come, no matter how thoroughly she imagined him there with her. Finally, after emitting a long sigh, she surrendered to the situation as it was, straightened her shoulders, and moved down the hallway to her room.

Although she was weary, she could tell that sleep was not going to be coming soon. But at least in her bed she would be warmer. For some reason, this thought reminded her of Milda, who was so happy to have a warm bed to sleep in while employed here at the Elfking's vineyard. She wondered how her flirtatious friend would have dealt with that kiss, and the conversation that had followed it.

Instantly, her spirits were lifted and her heart soared again. Instead of getting undressed, she left the room, and the house, to go find her friends and confide in them. It made perfect sense, she needed someone to talk to and they would listen. And it did not seem to matter anymore what they may think about her if they knew the truth, in fact it was silly to her that she had kept her feelings about the Elfking from them all this time. And they were leaving in the morning; maybe she would never see them again.

Once inside the sleeping quarters, she tiptoed so as not to disturb any of the other exhausted women. There was a dim glow from candles that were placed on wall sconces at both ends of the room. They gave enough light to navigate safely without injury from the edge of a bed or the side of a table, and enough to recognize facial features.

Milda was not even in her bed, and Cella felt a sharp pang of jealousy for the lucky woman who was probably out somewhere, satisfying all of her desires, unimpeded. Ingarde was sound asleep and Cella hesitated to wake her, she looked so peaceful. She thought she should go back to her home, but, unwilling to give up too quickly, she sat on the bed and gently shook her friend to wakefulness.

"What is it, what's wrong?" As soon as Ingarde realized who was waking her, she propped herself up on one elbow and anxiously searched Cella's face. She wiped sleep from her eyes and asked, "Are you hurt, did someone hurt you again?"

"No, no, no," Cella whispered, looking around to see if anyone had heard. "I am not hurt, and nothing's wrong," she began, but her voice broke. "Or maybe everything's wrong. And I need help knowing what to do about it." As she spoke, she realized that she was hurt, too, and she began to weep.

"Tell me what's happened," said Ingarde, sitting up straight, nearly wide awake. "Why are you crying?" She was petting Cella's hand now, instinctively trying to soothe her. It was time to tell her the truth.

"I think I am in love." As the fateful words left her mouth, Cella felt better at once. There, she had said it, it was out for the world to know, or at least as much of the world as her friend's gossiping tongue could cover. But, to her surprise, Ingarde just smiled and shook her head before she fell back on her pillow, relieved and unconcerned.

"Oh, is that all? Well, that's obvious, Cella," she said, not bothering to keep her voice quiet, and paused to yawn before adding, "At least to Milda and me. That you're head over heels for the King Elf. Did you only just realize it yourself?"

"It's obvious?" For all of her sudden bravery, Cella felt exposed and uncomfortable with the knowledge that her feelings for the Elfking had not been as concealed as she thought they were. But he had said so himself, how her thoughts were written in her eyes and on her face.

"It's nothing to worry about, it'll pass," Ingarde answered wisely. "It's hero-worship, and a natural way to feel about someone who rescued you. That's what I think, anyway."

It felt odd knowing that her emotional state had apparently been a topic of discussion, but Cella was somehow not surprised, considering how her friends seemed to have an opinion on everything and considered everything open to opinion. And, she also recognized that for the past few days, she actually had done nothing to conceal her feelings for the Elfking when he was near her or her discomfort when he was not around; no wonder it was obvious.

"But I know I am in love," Cella protested as she shuddered a little at the enormity of her conclusion. Although her conviction was faltering a bit as the sensibleness of her friend's words brought her back down to earth. "I have never felt like this before, like my heart might burst because it feels so full."

"So, what happened tonight?" asked Ingarde, too curious to fall back to sleep. "To make you cry like that?"

"He kissed me," confessed Cella, to her own amazement. She had imagined telling her friends that she had a dilemma, and maybe probing their thoughts for some ideas about how to unbend the Elfking's honorable intentions, without saying anything about what had happened when they were alone in her home.

"I know, I saw that today," said Ingarde, unimpressed. "Don't take a kiss like that so serious, Cella, he was just..."

"No, he really kissed me," interrupted Cella. "Tonight. Just now, or not that long ago."

"Where?" asked Ingarde.

"On the lips," whispered Cella, suddenly shy about talking about it, as waves of heat swept over her again upon recalling the Elfking's face lowering itself toward her own. She touched her lips again.

"No, I think I could figure that out. I mean where were you?" Keeping her voice low so as not to wake anyone, despite Ingarde's lack of concern about the other women sleeping in the room, Cella told her how the Elfking helped her take Uncle Dwain to bed, and how, when she had opened the door to let him out, he had shut it and kissed her instead. And then she was asked to repeat what he had said to her, before and after the kiss, word for word, several times. At last, after hearing all the evidence, Ingarde pronounced her verdict.

"Sounds to me like you both had too much of that good wine your uncle makes. I wouldn't take a kiss like that too serious either. You look pretty tipsy to me right now." With that said, she advised Cella to go to bed, get some sleep, and try not to feel too embarrassed when she got up the next day. There were undoubtedly a lot of spur-of-the-moment kisses, and more besides that, between unlikely partners during the night, prompted by the celebration and the dancing, and all.

"Not too many people are going to be proud of themselves when the sun comes up, if they can even remember anything of what they did." Ingarde had sat up again as she tried to reassure Cella. No one would think any the worse about her, she added, if they knew about a harmless little kiss, but her secret was safe with her.

But Cella was not so sure that no one would think the wrong things about her and the Elfking, after what Uncle Dwain had told her about Gorst's kin. She had not told her friends about what she had learned about the evil stories some people were telling about her, and they had not thought to ask, once the feast had gotten underway. And Ingarde keeping a secret was not necessarily possible.

To ensure her silence, Cella told her now about the low minded speculations of some of the townsfolk, and made her swear not to tell anyone about the kiss, except Milda, who would need to be sworn to secrecy as well. Ingarde had heard tell about the loathsome speculations, too, but had disregarded them. She knew better, she said, about the way things were run at the vineyard, and the proper way that the Elves acted toward the women who worked with them.

Almost too proper, Ingarde admitted ruefully, shaking her head at what Cella assumed were remembrances of her own attempts to unbend a stiff-necked Elf or two. But, she said she did not want to talk any more, she was too sleepy, and felt chilled sitting up in the dark.

"Go to bed, Cella dear," said Ingarde sweetly as she lay her head back on her pillow. "You need to sleep, I need to sleep, only the Elves don't seem to need sleep, but for the rest of us, that's what the night is for, or what's left of this one anyway." With a sigh, she snuggled down under her covers and closed her eyes.

After a moment of indecision, Cella rose, and walked through the corridors of the main house as she thought over their conversation. Ingarde was probably right about her, that she was taking a little kiss, possibly nothing more than a token of the Elfking's affection, too seriously. But she wanted to believe it was not something to be taken lightly, and was not willing to just forget it had happened. It meant something, she was sure of that. Or did she just want to believe it?

As she had repeated for Ingarde earlier what the Elfking had said, about controlling desires, and how they could go no further, 'at least not here, like this', Cella had thought for a moment that she had discovered the answer to the unasked question, but had kept the idea to herself in the presence of her wiser, more pragmatic friend. Silently, she had dismissed the notion as fanciful and foolish, almost as soon as it was born.

However, now, as she drew near the entrance to the Elves' area, guarded by sentries at either side of an arched open doorway, she could see the staircase that led to the upper floors and the previously dismissed fancy came back to her mind, doubly strong. She looked behind her and around her to make sure that no one else saw her, besides the door-guards.

Having never been alone with a man before, at least not in that way, she found it difficult to imagine fully what more the Elfking would have done, besides kiss her again, if they had not been standing in the front room of her home, with Uncle Dwain snoring down the hall. But she felt an interesting thrill from her speculations. What more could have happened if they had been in a different location, and under better circumstances?

And with those imaginings came a plan. It remained to be proven if she had the courage needed to follow through with it, but she seemed unable to stop herself now that she set her mind on her goal. And feeling brave did not matter as long as she did not think too hard about what she wanted to do in order to pursue her heart's desire.

Cella paused briefly in front of the unmoving sentries; they seemed not to notice her presence, which she took as permission to pass through the entrance. Milda and Ingarde had told her that the night she had been attacked, when they had tried to follow her uncle through this same door to follow the Elfking up the stairs, they had been prevented from entering by these silent spear-holding Elves.

As she walked past them now, Cella's heart pounded while she waited for them to order her to halt, and remove herself, but they did not. And as she reached the bottom of the staircase, she expected them to call out to her to come away, but they did not do that either. She was prepared to bolt and run if anyone else saw her there.

Cautiously, she went up the stairs. The entire place seemed deserted, even the fire that usually blazed brightly in the great hearth in the common room had burned down to embers, showing how long it had gone unattended. Everyone must be asleep, she hoped, or in their rooms.

For some reason, her heart seemed to beat even harder while she climbed the stairs and left the sentries farther behind. With trepidation filling her nearly to the point of paralysis, she lifted one foot after the other to the next step through sheer effort of will. It was helpful not to think about what, exactly, she was going to do when she reached the top. And it was not too late to run, if she completely lost her nerve.

Before she was ready to decide if she could truly bring herself to do such a daring thing as enter the Elfking's sleeping chambers uninvited, she was standing before his door. It was hard to believe that it was only the night before when she had been sleeping in there, without fear of discovery, and now here she was, on the outside, trying to get back in without anyone seeing her.

Should she knock first, or enter? Cella put her hand on the door handle and then removed it quickly, as if it had burned her fingers to touch it. Before deciding what to do next, she put her ear to the wood and listened. With her eyes closed and her breath held, she stood still for several minutes until she determined that there was nothing to hear. As she leaned there, she felt her head swim a bit with drowsiness, and she had to stand up straight and shake herself awake.

Now she had to make the decision. Turn and leave? Knock or enter? She knocked. As she waited, her heart, which had calmed down when she had tried to hear through the door, now began hammering again as she anticipated the Elfking opening it and seeing her there. But there was no answer. She turned the handle slowly, pushed the door open, and peeked inside. It appeared that the room was empty. She took a deep breath and opened the door wider only to see that the bed was empty, the canopy's curtains were pulled back all the way on both sides, and the covers were not mussed.

The sound of voices from somewhere on the lower level made Cella jump, and she quickly stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. Had someone heard her sneaking into the royal chambers? Or had the door-guards reported her? She cracked the door open and listened for a moment before closing it again. She had heard nothing this time. However, if it was the Elfking, he might be coming up those stairs to his chambers right now, and his footsteps would be silent as he approached, as all Elves were. What would he do if he came in and found her standing there waiting for him? What if he asked her to leave? He might do that if she did not think of a way to convince him not to.

Now that Cella had made up her mind, she could think of no better place to lose her innocence with King Thranduil than right here in this room, and she was determined to do her best to accomplish that goal. She felt it was either now, or, possibly, never.

Within seconds, Cella had removed her dress and slipped under the blankets of the enormous bed in which she felt safer than anywhere else in the world. She shook with excitement while she reached out and pulled the canopy curtains next to her head half-way closed, to conceal her presence, and waited.

Smiling to herself as she imagined the surprise, and she hoped delight, on Thranduil's face when he found her hiding there, she lay down on the pillows, hugging one of them against her cheek, and closed her eyes. And feeling happier than she thought a human had the right to feel, she fell asleep.

t b c


	21. Chapter 21?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 21

The Elf horns were blowing. Cella roused from her deep sleep enough to open her eyes and determine that it was still dark outside, not yet dawn, which meant the horns were not signaling day break, and so their noise meant nothing to her. With a sigh, she sank back down into sleep in pursuit of the lovely dream she was having, and returned immediately to where she had been briefly called away from.

Before her sleep was disturbed, Cella had found herself, in the queer logic of most dreams, to be a child again. It felt quite normal. She had been standing at a favorite spot of hers, within walking distance of Uncle Dwain's vineyard, on a cliff above the shore of the inland sea. It was a place where she and her father spent many happy summer evening hours, after dinner. Together, they would watch the gulls, the boats moving out on the water, and the fishermen, who stood along the shore below while casting their lines out into the gently lapping waves.

In the dream, the sun was slowly sinking in the sky and everything Cella could see, the rippling water, the boats, the birds, and the fishermen, were all uniformly bathed in its golden light. Before the horns had blasted her awake, she had felt more at peace than she could remember ever feeling.

But now, when she drifted back to sleep and tried to return to her dream, she found the shoreline was deserted and the sea was empty. It grieved her that there was not another living thing in sight. The sea birds were still near, because she could hear the incessant cawing and crying as they wheeled overhead, but she could not see them anymore. The sky and sun were covered in clouds, and every thing was colored gray instead of gold. Again, she heard the horns blaring and knew at once that they were a warning of either thick fog creeping in, or, of a violent squall on the way. She felt worried for the boats out on the water, even though she could not see any.

As if waiting for a signal from the horns, thick, low clouds quickly rolled in around her, obscuring her view on all sides. The noisy sea-bird cries were muffled by the white blanket of mist, but she could still hear them faintly above her. She sniffed when a familiar odor touched her nose, and could tell that someone had started a fire on the beach below; she could smell the driftwood burning. The sky was getting darker; perhaps she should go home now.

An uneasy feeling came over her when she turned to leave and realized that she did not know where she was. For some reason, she was no longer standing on the familiar beach cliff. She had gone astray in the fog, although she could not remember walking anywhere, and nothing looked familiar. She tried to find her way back to where she had just been. But she had no sense of direction in this white world she wandered in.

The uneasiness turned to horror when she found that the white cloud that obscured her vision was not fog at all, but smoke. And it could not have come from a mere driftwood fire; this had to be from the bonfire at the Elfking's harvest feast. As soon as she thought it, she knew it was true, and she could hear its roaring voice again, although she could not see any flames. There was no sea, no boats, and no beautiful golden beach anymore. Cella was back in the King's vineyard.

It must be that, during the night, when no one was watching it, the bonfire had re-ignited by itself and had grown out of control. She could almost hear it walking about in the vines, crashing through the stakes, and seeking her. It had sensed her fear, and was coming to devour her. She tried to run, but her legs would not respond properly, and there was some unseen force that resisted her forward motion, preventing her escape. She tried to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth.

Out of the swirling clouds she heard the seagulls again. Only instead of cawing, she thought she could hear them calling out her name. No, it was not birds she was hearing, it was a person's voice, someone who was hidden in the smoke. Distinctly, clearly, right next to her ear it seemed, she heard a voice say her name.

Cella sat straight up in the bed, startled awake. She expected to see clouds of smoke, or flames of fire, or whoever it was that had called out her name. Instead, she saw nothing around her but the curtains that hung from the canopy of the Elfking's bed. She was safe.

Relief flooded her as she recalled the last moments of the nightmare; there was no living, breathing, bonfire monster that was trying to kill her. And she was not lost at all. She knew exactly where she was, even if the details about how she had ended up here in the royal bedchamber were still hazy. But with each moment of wakefulness, the steps she made to hide herself in this bed were regretfully coming into focus, even if her eyes would not. Her vision was blurred from sleepiness, and her lids felt sticky. But, she had heard someone say her name.

With caution, she pulled the bed drapes back and felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment to find that the chair beside the bed was empty. She had half expected to see her uncle there, waiting for her to wake up. A dim gray light filtered in at the edges of the window shutters; the night was over and a new day was coming. From somewhere outdoors, she could hear raised voices, crying out and shouting. They reminded her of the sea-birds from her dream, but it did not sound like anyone was calling her name.

Her head hurt so bad that she had to hold onto her temples. The muffled shouting out in the vineyard bothered her, there was something about it that was trying to demand her attention, but she felt sick. The dread from the nightmare was just beginning to seep away, and although she wanted to go back to sleep, she was afraid it was too soon.

Adding to her overall discomfort was the scent of smoke that stubbornly clung to her hair, and skin. This was one of the reasons she had stayed as far from the bonfire as she could the night before, although not far enough it seemed. The pungent odor invaded her senses so completely that she could not escape it. She hated the way the acrid aroma had lodged inside of her nose, and it seemed like she could even taste the bitter reek in her dry throat. It made her stomach turn.

No wonder the idea of fire had entered her dream and tormented her in that nightmare. And her eyes seemed affected also. The lids were heavy, and were having trouble clearing, no matter how often she wiped and rubbed at them.

Slowly, Cella lowered herself back down to the pillow while she decided what to do next. She considered just staying in the royal bed a while longer, even though she knew she should not, until the left over shreds of horror were cleared from her mind and her touchy stomach settled. But it hurt her head to think what she should do, and she felt sluggish and stupid from lack of sleep.

But, despite her befuddled mind, she recognized her good fortune at having escaped discovery by the Elfking, or anyone else who might have a reason to come in to his room. Now, all she had to do was get up and get dressed and slip out unseen, before the sun came up. She would have to move fast. If she was able to do that, she vowed to herself that she would go right home and get some good sleep in her own room. Only, she wished she did not feel so ill. This was more than just the nightmare and lingering scent of the bonfire, and she knew exactly what was wrong. It was the wine.

All of her life, Cella had witnessed the morning-after suffering of those who had overindulged their thirst during a festive occasion. Usually it was the younger men who worked for her uncle who would be this sick on the day after a feast like the one she had attended the night before. They would moan and clutch their scalps, a sight which she always found disturbing. Because she had learned their agony was self-inflicted, and avoidable.

Uncle Dwain, from what she could tell, never seemed affected that way, and he explained to her that it was a matter of common sense, and drinking in moderation. He told the vineyard workers the same thing, at every party where his wine was served. After that, she had always wondered why anyone would be so foolish as to not follow that advice, and she never felt sorry for those who let themselves get into such a wretched condition.

Now she felt sympathetic towards all those poor unhappy men, and guilty for judging them so harshly. She wondered who else from the harvest feast would have a headache like hers today. And Uncle Dwain had certainly drunk more wine than she had ever seen him drink before; she almost smiled to think that he was probably still sound asleep. It might be interesting to see how he fared this morning after he had overindulged himself last night, possibly for the first time in his life.

Again, she heard the sound of raised voices from somewhere out beyond the shuttered windows. It was enough to shake her out of the stupefying torpor she seemed to be trapped in. Cella moaned, just like the ill men-folk back home would do. Now that she was awake enough to remember what day it was, she thought she knew what she was hearing, and what had disturbed her dreams.

She was on her feet, her heart beating a little faster as she considered what she had done by falling asleep in the Elfking's bed; the commotion outside could only be for one reason. It was the sound made by the seasonal workers leaving; they were gathering together, shouting and calling out to each other while they were waiting for the wagons in preparation of being driven away, including Milda and Ingarde. Cella was convinced now that her friends would have been looking for her to say farewell. Maybe they had even been calling her name and that is what she had heard in her troubled dreaming.

As she dressed, Cella wondered why the wagons were leaving this early and hoped that the ones her friends were riding home in were still there. If she missed seeing them off because of her silly idea to surprise King Thranduil by hiding in his bed, she would never forgive herself. It was going to be hard enough doing that as it was. But she needed to worry about that later, and get out of here now.

The self-induced illness from drinking too much wine seemed to make her sense of smell more acute. The stink from the bonfire seemed stronger after she dressed, which meant it must be clinging to the fabric of her pretty new gown. It would have to be washed as soon as she could manage it. She had no time to think about it now.

Before she opened the door, Cella held her ear against it, as she had done before she entered the room. She could hear nothing to indicate that anyone was on the other side, as she feared. Slowly, so as not to make it creak, she opened it and peeked out. Her only concern was to escape discovery, and she was grateful to find that the corridor outside the royal chamber was empty. As swiftly as she could move in the debilitated state she was in, she crept down the hall to the top of the stairs.

The common room below her was dimly lit and quiet. The large windows were shuttered but there were tapered candles on the mantle of the great fireplace, and their flickering light revealed that the place was empty. But, unaccountably, she could smell smoke even stronger now, which made her move with extra caution down the stairs. It was not just the left-over scent from the bonfire clinging to her hair and dress that she had thought when she was still in the bedroom. And the torches that normally lit the stairs had been extinguished, so they were not the source.

It was possible there was an explanation. Maybe her oversensitive nose was detecting a fire in the common room's fireplace? But when she reached the bottom of the staircase, she could see that there was nothing within the dark depths of the massive hearth that could be making any smoke; there was not even the faintest glow from slowly dying embers. Where was this stench coming from? As she descended, the odor became so pervasive that her eyes blurred, and for a startled moment, she believed she could actually see a noticeable haze in the air.

A wave of dizziness forced Cella to grip on to the curved banister and she held on to it tightly until her stomach stopped flipping. The urge to run back up the stairs was strong, but she knew she must not do that. She forced herself to calm down and pay attention. Except for the haze, there were no other signs of a fire, she heard no crackling noises, and saw no light from any flames. It could be that the great bonfire from the harvest feast was still smoldering out in the party field, and the smoke had drifted all this way.

Reluctantly, Cella released her grip on the banister and stepped away from the stairs. If there was any danger here from something as noticeable as a smoking blaze in the house, the Elves would certainly be here to cope with it, she reminded herself. They would sense any hazard before she could. But, she still felt anxious as remnants of her fiery nightmare tickled her spine with fear, despite her rational mind's assurances and explanations.

Had she imagined that the sounds she had heard were the workers leaving? Because it was too quiet down here for that to be happening; there should be more activity and noise. The Elves would be awake when the wagons were brought around, and the windows would be opened, too. She decided she would just go home, and get into bed before her uncle woke up, if he was not already rounding up a search party for her.

But her fear had distracted her, so it was not until she came all the way into the entryway that she noticed the silent guards were not there, standing sentry. What did that mean? She stopped again, unwilling to take another step. Why would the guards leave the Elves' area unattended? She listened, and she could faintly hear voices that came from outside the front door. But no one was shouting any more.

And now she was convinced that the hollering that had annoyed her was not the worker's leaving. It was undoubtedly about the bonfire's smoke getting into to house, and that made sense. The Elves would not like their rooms filled with smoke any more than she would. It would explain why the shutters were still closed as well.

Sternly, Cella lectured herself about jumping at any more shadows; she would never get home this way. She should just feel grateful that she had gotten this far without being seen by anyone. And it was almost over now, just a few more steps until she was safely on her way to her own bed. It had to be a combination of the after effects of the wine, the smoky smell, and the horrible nightmare, that was setting her nerves on edge.

The way out of the house was right across from the stairway; but the entrance to the corridor that led to her home was to her right, around the corner, and therefore out of sight from where she stood. It was growing lighter now, even with the windows closed. If anyone was coming or going through any of the other halls that connected to this area, they would see her now if she did not hurry.

Cella never lied to her uncle, she never had to. But she started to practice what she would say to him if he was awake. Her head pounded in protest to the exercise, and the queasiness in her stomach had not gone away, but she no longer had to fear being seen leaving the Elfking's bedroom. She was nearly home.

And then she opened the door to the final corridor and shrieked when thick, dark smoke boiled out to greet her. Choking and sputtering as she ran, she was nearly all the way back to the staircase before she could make herself stop and think about where she was going before she ran up the stairs and hid in the Elfking's room again. She might be trapped up there if the fire was coming in this direction. She had to get out of the house, now. Out the front door.

Sobbing, Cella ran, and when she burst out of the house, a soot-covered Ingarde rose from where she was seated on the ground. They screamed at the sight of each other. Milda was there, too, and the look on her equally smudged face was one of disbelief and pure joy mingled. Clutching at her, they both declared to her that she was alive, over and over; as if this was something she might not know, and needed to be convinced of.

They made her sit on the landing steps while they added how they could not believe it was true, even though they somehow knew it all along. They told her that there had been a fire, but it was mostly out, there was just the smoke left. And they had both thought she was dead.

"Where is Uncle Dwain?" she asked. Now that her very worst fear had been confirmed, and apparently extinguished while she had slept, she felt abnormally calm, and no longer sick. But she was not at peace, she felt numb.. Her friends looked at each other, and then Milda took her hand, pulled her to her feet, and led her around the house to the garden as she spoke.

"I'll take you there," she said. "We just left him, but he's going to be happy to see you, when he... He's right over here." She gestured ahead of her where the picnic tables were set out under the trees. Cella could see Elves there next to one of the tables, but the King was not there. Milda stopped her. "Wait a minute. Your uncle is going to be fine, but I have to warn you, he got hurt bad in the fire."

But Cella did not wait to hear more; she broke free from her friend and pushed through the Elves. Her uncle was laying on one of the picnic tables, and she nearly collapsed with relief at the sight of him. His eyes were closed, and he had a cover pulled over him to his chest, but she could not see any burns on his skin, or any other obvious injury. Nandirn was standing beside her, and though he did not speak, his presence there calmed her. He smiled at her.

"Can I touch him?" she asked the gray-clad Elf. He nodded and she picked up her uncle's hand and held it. Uncle Dwain did not stir, but his hand felt warm and dry, which made her feel even better.

"His Majesty has sent your uncle to sleep," said Nandirn. His gentle voice was soothing to hear. "There is healing power in sleep," he added. "And he will waken after a time, and you may stay here with him." She thanked him, and wished that she could thank the Elfking too, but she could do that later. Right now she was puzzled. Her uncle still wore the clothes he had slept in, and from what she could see, they were not burnt or scorched. His hair was not singed.

"Milda said he was hurt bad in the fire?" She looked back up to the Elf for reassurance that what she saw before her was true. Uncle Dwain had not been injured too badly, at least not that she could see. If anything, her uncle looked healthier than she had ever seen him, even though he was still and quiet, which was very unusual.

"Your uncle has undergone a great amount of healing, but there is only so much that can be done through the grace of the Eldar. Any further healing will be up to him," The Elf nodded toward the sleeping man. He told Cella that Uncle Dwain had suffered some burns to his legs, but they had been healed, and would probably not even leave much of a scar. But, there was a chance he could lose one of his legs, after it had been crushed by a falling beam. It would take time, but he would receive as much help as was necessary to help the healing process along.

A bench was pulled beside the table for her to sit on while she waited for her uncle to wake up. Milda and Ingarde had cleaned their hands and faces, and brought Cella breakfast, but she could not bear to look at it.

"Where were you?" demanded Milda.

"I got into the wrong bed last night," she said. "After I finished talking to Ingarde, I tried to go home, but I was so sleepy I didn't know what I was doing." Cella explained that she had been too tired to think straight and so had climbed the stairs and gotten in the Elfking's bed without meaning to. It was the story she had practiced to tell her uncle.

And it was true, true enough that Cella could say it to Milda and Ingarde with a straight face, and a clear conscience. She could even look her friends in the eye while she said so. The only thing she was leaving out was her motive. Otherwise, all she had done was fall asleep in the wrong place. Ingarde shook her head with disbelief.

"Oh, Cella, it was meant to be," said Milda in awe. "You were saved by your mistake."

"What do you mean?" asked Cella.

"The fire was started in your bedroom," answered Ingarde. "And by the time anyone could get to it..."

"We all thought you were dead," finished Milda.

But Cella was not sure that was true. The voice that woke her from sleep, familiar as her own in her ear, had been the Elfking's voice. She had not answered, hoping to remain hidden, but she was not sure he did not know that she was in his bed.

And no matter how frightened she had felt by the smell of the smoke, she had not called to him in her mind, had deliberately not thought of him at all, because she was convinced he would guess her location. And in the clear light of the dawning day, she was hoping against hope that he did not know where she had been.

t b c


	22. Chapter 22?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 22

The numbness Cella felt upon hearing that there had been a fire, even though it was put out before she had even been aware of it, intensified while she sat with her sleeping uncle. She took one of his limp hands into her own, and clung to it more to comfort herself than him. Her whole morning had been a series of upsetting events, starting with the nightmare that had driven her from sleep. And, even though she was surrounded by her friends, and friendly Elves, she felt alone.

After Nandirn informed her that Uncle Dwain would not waken until midday, she asked to see the remains of her bedroom. Milda and Ingarde were against it, claiming that the sight would do her more harm than good, but she was drawn to it almost against her will. The little house smelled of smoke and the floor was sloppy with sooty puddles of water. A tiny wave of dizziness made Cella cling to the door frame before she could enter; it was so much like her dream. The smoke was still a haze in the air, but the morning breezes were dispersing it quickly.

Her room was the only one affected, and it was nearly completely destroyed. Her bed was burnt to ashes, and it broke her heart to lose her mother's blanket. But her father's books, which she kept on the shelf above her door, had escaped with just a smoky smell. Cella walked through the house without saying a word or shedding a tear. She felt grateful that she had escaped, but it seemed like just a continuation of her nightmare, and she wanted to wake up.

She returned to the garden to sit with Uncle Dwain and shivered as she pictured the blaze in her mind. It did not take a lot of imagination to figure out what may have happened to her if she had been in her bed. The wine had put her into a sound sleep. It was hard to get used to the notion that she had saved her own life. If she had not been so foolish last night to climb into King Thranduil's bed in an effort to lose her innocence, whatever that meant, she would have been burnt alive. She had been incredibly lucky. But that did not make what she did forgivable. Did it?

Milda and Ingarde had brought her breakfast, but, in her present state, she could not tolerate even the sight of it, let alone the smell of it mingled with the reek of smoke and ash that swirled around the garden where they all sat. The after-effects of the wine were mostly gone now. Her head felt clearer and no longer pounded with pain. And even though she did not feel the jumpy behavior in her mid-section that had bedeviled her since the moment she awoke, she had something bigger to digest. Food would have to wait.

Both of the women tried to reassure Cella that Uncle Dwain was sure to recover completely, and she nodded dully in agreement with them. She had no doubts about the healing skills of the gracious Elfking, even if there was no promise that her uncle would not suffer some lasting disability; he would at least be alive. But, she knew her well-meaning friends misinterpreted her reactions since she had burst from the house, and surprised them by being alive.

While everyone else celebrated her survival, Cella mourned the fact that she had been discovered escaping the fire. She was trying to get away from it, true, but that was only secondary to her primary goal. And now the whole vineyard would know the one secret she had tried to conceal. Milda and Ingarde, and possibly her uncle, might believe her story about being too sleepy and tipsy from the wine to know what she was doing, and how she had gone to sleep in the wrong bed by mistake. They might think she was telling the truth because they did not know her to be anything but truthful.

But the Elfking would know she was lying. In fact, he probably knew the truth already, no matter what Cella wished. She dreaded seeing him again, and yet, she craved him to be near her. No one could tell her when he would return to the vineyard from Laketown. He had taken the men responsible for setting the fires, who the Elves had caught, to turn them over to the Sheriff.

One of them was dead, said Ingarde and Milda said she was sure he was the same man who had torched the bedroom; he had been caught by the Elfking, although there were no witnesses to the event.. Hearing this piece of news seemed to bring Cella out of her stupor, and she started to pay more attention to her friends.

Milda and Ingarde told her that they had seen some of the men who had been rounded up and taken away. They recognized none of them, and figured they had to be Gorst's kin and any other troublemakers that always seemed ready to join in mischief at the expense of the innocent. The first fire had been started by some of them, who had crept up to the fence of the vineyard and tossed torches into the vines. As the hot sunny day had dried out what had been left of any moisture from the rains, the fire caught and began to spread quickly. This had all started not long after nearly everyone had gone to bed after the great feast.

And from what Cella could understand of the sequence of events, this all began right after she and the Elfking had put Uncle Dwain to bed. If possible, she felt even guiltier. It was bad enough that she had ignored the horns that were blown later in the night, to alarm the vineyard of the fire, and therefore had slept through her uncle's desperate attempt to escape the blaze. But she did not like thinking about what else could have possibly happened, if she had her way last night. She could have turned a bad situation into a complete disaster.

While she had been throwing herself at the handsome monarch, trying to make him kiss her again, those villains had been at work without his detection. What if she had succeeded in making him stay with her? She shuddered to think of it, but was grateful for the Elfking's good sense in withdrawing from her when he had. Her tired mind was filled with dark thoughts of herself, and she felt that if her friends knew the truth about her intentions, they would not be so pleased.

Oblivious to her inner distress, Milda and Ingarde continued with reporting what they knew of the events of the morning. The first fire, in the vines, had been put out quickly, before it could spread to the buildings, but it had only been a diversion. While Thranduil and his guards were pre-occupied with rounding up the men responsible, a single man had slipped into the vineyard, unnoticed, from behind the main house, where no one was watching at the time. There was evidence that he had tried to enter through the back gate, and, not succeeding in this attempt, had broken the shutters to Cella's bedroom window to toss in a torch.

He had not gotten far before Thranduil found him, and, after disposing of him, entered the burning house. Uncle Dwain had been roused from bed and led out, and then had tried to enter back into the house when he found out that Cella was not accounted for. He had made it back into her bedroom, where his leg had been trapped, but had been pulled out by the Elfking before it was too late. All of the Elves and humans had been ordered out of the main house, too, in case the fire spread. But no one had thought to check the royal bedchamber, Cella realized, because their monarch was clearly visible in the midst of all the chaos.

As the workers were roused from their beds, a head count was done. Two of the men were missing, and Milda and Ingarde told Cella that the Elves decided they must have assisted Gorst's kin in their crime. A search was launched, these men were caught attempting to flee, and were subsequently brought to the Elfking for questioning. They confessed immediately, but they had sworn they had not been aware of any plans to harm anyone.

The two conspirators had been led to believe that Cella had been complicit in Gorst's death, and that she was being taken to hide out in Mirkwood with her uncle, not a secret in the vineyard, in order to escape justice. The plan had been to capture her before she could flee, and then take her to Laketown where she would be questioned about the night Gorst was murdered by the Elfking. That was what they were told would happen, and they appeared horrified to learn about the fire.

After her uncle had been healed, and sent to sleep, the Elfking, his seneschal, and a few other Elves, had put all of the men, including the two field hands who had helped them, into one of the wagons meant for the seasonal workers, and had taken them to Laketown to turn them over to the Sheriff. And, from what Milda and Ingarde had heard tell, the King Elf was probably going to wring the lawman's neck for not doing a better job at keeping the troublemakers away from the vineyard. At least they both hoped he would. If anyone deserved a good neck-wringing, it was him.

But no one could get over Cella's miraculous escape. Milda excused herself to find Willem, he had gone out to help with the fire in the vineyard, and Ingarde was alone with her for the first time.

"I know why you got into the King Elf's bed," she whispered with a knowing look in her eyes, to Cella's despair. "You weren't that sleepy," she continued. "Or tipsy. And you might be able to fool everyone else, but not me." Ingarde took Cella's hand from Uncle Dwain's and squeezed it before adding, "And I am so glad you did. Don't blame yourself for what happened. I can see it on your face that you do."

As relief flooded through her, Cella smiled at her good friend. It felt good knowing that someone else knew the truth, and was not upset with her silly behavior, which was indeed not as much from the wine as she wanted to believe. All morning, as she had coped with her aches and pains and after-effects of the nightmare, she had craved the opportunity to be in her own bed, where she could think about what had happened to her with the Elfking. She had not had a moment since she had left Ingarde's bedside, after confessing her love for the Elf, to even think beyond the next moment of time, and what new disaster might happen.

One thing in her story was true; she had not really known what she was doing when she had climbed into Thranduil's bed, because her mind had not been her guide in her decisions from the moment he had kissed her. She had relied solely on her heart for direction from that point on. A tricky guide, she was learning, but one she could not ignore.

"What happened last night, when you got there?" asked Ingarde.

"I went to sleep, and I didn't wake up until I heard the horns," explained Cella, almost wishing she could have bragged about something more romantic. "I never saw him at all." Hearing it out loud forced her to see how innocent of an act it had been, her attempt to seduce the Elfking, and she had to smile at the look on Ingarde's face. It was a perfect mix of relief and disappointment. Cella laughed, and added, "I don't know what I thought would happen, if Thranduil had come in and found me there. I am sure he would have told me to go right home and get in my own bed."

"No," Ingarde shook her head as she spoke, unconvinced. "I think he would have just let you lay there asleep, you weren't hurting anyone." And Cella felt better as they talked it over. In the end she had to agree with her that the Elfking probably would not have been so disturbed at finding her there that he would wake her up and force her to leave. He had never before demonstrated such harsh behavior toward her, or anyone else. He had only been gentle in all of his dealings with her, despite her initial fear of him.

With Willem in tow, Milda returned to the garden, and by silent agreement, Cella and Ingarde stopped talking about the night before. The news had spread throughout the vineyard that Uncle Dwain had been trapped and then rescued from certain death, and was recovering in the gardens. Some of the workers respectfully approached where they sat to marvel at how Cella was holding up and at how well and peaceful her uncle looked, lying there.

The story that was being told amongst them had both uncle and niece being rescued from the fire by the King. More and more workers came and soon it was a fact that the magical Elfking had caught the arsonist, put out the fire, and rescued Uncle Dwain and Cella, all by himself.

At first, Cella thought that someone would correct this account, as it was obvious to her that she had not been near the fire when it broke out, and she had not been rescued from it by anyone. But as she listened, she realized that no one else, even those who saw her burst out the front door of the mansion, had assumed she had been anywhere but in her own bed at the time the fire started. And as the brilliant autumn sun rose to the middle of the sky, she felt even more lighthearted with each passing moment.

Only Ingarde and Milda knew the truth, and Cella was surprised how neither of them stopped the storytellers to correct them. She blessed them silently for protecting her reputation. But it was just as likely that her friends preferred the second version to the first one, as it was more dramatic by all accounts, and grew even more dramatic as it was embellished in the retelling.

Everyone was quite happy to believe that their employer, the great legend of their childhoods, the warrior Elf who single-handedly fought off the evil of the Dark Lord for centuries, was capable of anything, including walking through fire to rescue his loyal employees. At least, they all hoped so, and that made the story even truer for them.

When the mid-day horns blew, most of the workers left the gardens to eat lunch. The wagons would take most of them home after the meal. There was a group who volunteered to stay and help clean up the mess from the fire, for wages and a place to sleep. Milda and Willem were among them, and Cella was not surprised. It was only a matter of time before her friend figured out a way to live with the Elves on a permanent basis.

Ingarde wanted to stay too, but she was torn. Her stable-owning man friend back home might be married already to some other conniving woman, but she felt the urge to find out sooner rather than later. She was not mollified by Milda's reassurance that true love would wait forever. It was easy to say that when you had someone's hand to hold. Both of the women tried to coax Cella to the dining tent for one last meal together, but she would not be budged from her uncle's side.

Almost on cue, Nandirn arrived. He carried a bowl in his hands, and the fragrance that rose with its steam identified it as some type of tea. Cella had held her uncle's hand nearly the entire time she sat with him, and she gasped to feel his fingers move beneath hers. He was waking up. She clasped her other hand around his so that she held it with both, and squeezed it gently, as if to prod him to wake up. First one eye opened, and then the other. And he smiled to see her there before him. She forbade herself to cry, even though her eyes filled with tears, because she wanted him to see her being calm, and not cause him any worry.

Nandirn helped her uncle to sit, and offered him the tea to wet his dry throat. Cella turned her head when the Elf lifted the cover to examine his leg; she had learned enough about the injury to know it must look ugly, even if he was not showing any sign of suffering in any severe pain. The Elf seemed pleased with what he saw, or at least not displeased, judging by his comments.

Her uncle was interested and he clucked over the wound along with Nandirn, and did not seem too dismayed at the sight.

"It isn't a pretty sight," he declared. "But it's healed better already than I ever thought possible." He spoke as if his leg was a problem on the same level as a sickly grape vine in need of attention, or a batch of wine in danger of turning to vinegar, a little troublesome, but soon set to right. His attitude buoyed Cella's spirits. He did not sound as if he would accept defeat, and that was what she wanted to hear. She had supreme faith in her uncle's ability to fix any problem set before him, and this was just one more.

Now that he was awake, the Elves helped Uncle Dwain move to a chair that they had brought out to the garden. It was in a placed in shadier location than the table, and there was a footstool with pillows for him to keep his leg propped up on. Cella sat on the natural blanket of moss beside him, and leaned against the trunk of a tree while Nandirn and the other Elves saw to her uncle's needs.

Lunch was brought for them on trays, and they both were grateful. There was not much food left in the vineyard after the feast the night before, and the kitchen elves had to make do with cold meats, cheese, and fresh fruits. But after seeing her uncle awake, Cella was hungry now. Everything looked delicious and she was able to eat. He was soon as comfortable as he could be made, and he waved off his helpers and asked to be left alone with his niece for a while.

"He told me you were alive," her uncle said as soon as they were alone, and Cella knew whom he meant, the Elfking. "That was the only way he could get me out of the house, brother-daughter." She could not respond beyond nodding that she understood. Uncle Dwain tried to continue, "When I couldn't find you outdoors, I thought I had lost you..." but he had to stop there, and her heart ached to see him have to relive that moment of fear again. She smiled for him, and spoke as cheerfully as she could.

"I am alive, Uncle, and so are you, and that is all that matters now." He smiled back at her, almost like his old self. She added, "Don't blame yourself for anything, that's what people keep telling me. We were lucky to have the Elfking come to help us, and we are both safe now. Save your energy, you need to keep your strength for your leg."

It was not a lie, what she had said, but she managed to avoid telling him she was not in her room when the fire started, at least for now. Eating lunch had made her sleepy, which was no surprise considering how little time she had spent in any bed, let alone the right bed, and she had to fight to keep herself from nodding off where she sat. Even after his Elf-induced sleep, Uncle Dwain was yawning and looking drowsy as well.

With the workers in the dining tent, a hush had fallen over the entire vineyard, and only the occasional sound of twittering birds and buzzing bees broke the stillness. Their trays were soon emptied, and removed, and both Cella and her uncle dozed beneath the trees in the garden, lulled by the musical fountains. They were awakened, gently, by Nandirn. He informed them that the Elfking had returned, and was coming to the garden to see them.

The dread Cella had felt over seeing Thranduil face to face, after her embarrassing behavior the night before, dissipated entirely when he returned. The sun had been shining brightly all morning, but, when he entered the garden, she felt as if dark clouds had finally blown away, and she could breathe easily again for the first time since she had sat up in his bed, after hearing him call her name.

At the other end of the garden, the Elfking paused to talk with Nandirn before coming to where Cella and her uncle were sitting, and she drank in the sight of him. Now that he was in sight, her heart was filled with joy. She swore to herself that she would disregard its guidance, and listen only to what was left of her good sense, while she waited for him to draw nearer. The words Ingarde had spoken to her the night before, after hearing about the kiss he had given her, came back to her now. She no longer felt foolish, but grateful that she had not been successful in pushing herself on him any further after he had so gallantly withdrawn.

The wine, the dancing, and the merriment of the moment, had provoked the kiss. And she had to admit to herself, in the clear light of day, that he had merely behaved on an impulse to please her, which he appeared to instantly regret. Her romantic notions had only gotten in her way, and had blinded her to the truth of the situation. She was determined to keep her feet planted on solid ground today and not give in to any more flights of fancy. And she would not consider what happened as anything more than a token of His Majesty's grace-filled affection taken a bit too far.

From where she sat, she could tell he was not happy. She could only hope that he had no more bad news for them, after his visit to the Laketown. But the grim look on his face, and the way his jaw was clenched as he spoke to Nandirn, made her feel anxious. When he finally turned his attention toward her and her uncle, she almost froze; his face was so stern that she was sure he was angry. But, his fierce expression softened when he came closer, and he smiled as he reached her uncle's side and clasped him by the shoulder as he greeted him.

Before he told them anything, he examined her uncle's leg, as Nandirn had done earlier. This time, Cella watched; with the Elfking present she felt braver and less likely to lose control of her emotions to distress Uncle Dwain. She was relieved and glad she had finally gathered the nerve to see the full extent of his injury. It was not, as her uncle said, a pretty thing to see, but she felt certain he would recover after all.

There was a large purplish gash on Uncle Dwain's leg that ran across the knee and down his calf, but he did not complain of any pain. The Elfking seemed most pleased that the man could move his foot, and even wiggle his big toe. He did not pronounce the leg free from danger, but he told them he was encouraged by the signs of recovery.

"You have taxed the limit of my Elf-magic, Dwain, son of Dake," he said as he covered the man's leg back up, finished with his patient for the moment. "Now only time will tell," he added. "But I believe you may keep your leg, after all."

With that said, the King turned his attention to the other problem they were all facing, the men who had tried to harm Cella, and what he had done with them after he had arrived at Laketown. His voice grew contemptuous as he recounted rousing the Sheriff and making him lock the men up while he watched. The field-hands who had confessed were questioned again, and the dead man who had started the fire in the bedroom was identified as Gorst's brother.

According to the Laketown official, there were others in that family who had not been gathered in the round up of arsonists, and he could not guarantee there would be no more attacks on the vineyard. The rumor of Cella fleeing to the Elfking's forest, before she could answer for Gorst's murder, had swept through the town and prompted the vigilantes to action before she could escape their rough justice. Whoever had escaped capture during the night would most likely return again; they were that set on revenge.

"Your Worship," said Uncle Dwain, while nodding toward his niece, "Maybe we should talk about this alone. What you say is not so good for Cella to hear, I'm thinking."

"No," replied the Elfking. "There is no more time for talking, it is time for action. I told the Sheriff to do his best to keep his town folk under control, but I have little hope he is capable of preventing any more harm coming to the vineyard."

While Cella listened, she had indeed felt frightened upon hearing how there were plans made to prevent her departure to the Elfking's halls. It was already clear to her that she was the target of mad-men who held her responsible for Gorst's untimely death, even though she knew the truth, and knew that he had deserved his fate. She wondered if she should just go into the town, and answer their questions, and settle this, even though the thought of recalling the terrible night of her attack, and repeating the events in front of hostile strangers, made her tremble.

"All I care about, Your Worship," her uncle was saying, "is my niece's safety."

"As do I," said the King firmly, and he turned to her, offered her his hand, and drew her to her feet. "Nandirn will bring your uncle when he is ready to be moved, you must say your goodbyes to him quickly" he told her. "My horse is being brought around. I am going to take you away from here, now."

T b c


	23. Chapter 23?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 23

It was only after Uncle Dwain used his sternest voice and ordered Cella to do the Elfking's bidding, to prepare to leave from the vineyard at once, that she consented to leave the injured man's side. He swore he would heal all the sooner if his mind was at ease over her safety, and he could think of no safer place for her to be than within the Elfking's realm.

"Any Elf that could hold off that Dark Lord and all of his wicked doings," her uncle declared, "can surely handle some raggedy bad'uns that don't have any good sense to begin with." Gently, he removed her arms from around his neck, where she had put them while she said her goodbyes to him. "I'll be following right along, brother-daughter, it'll take more than a banged up leg to keep this royal vintner away from his new wine cellar."

The plan was for her uncle to be brought by wagon after all of the fire damage was cleared away and the vineyard was ready to be put to bed for winter. Most of the Wood-elves that would normally be traveling home with their King were staying behind. They would provide protection along the fence lines for the next few day, at least until all of the human workers were gone.

Thranduil insisted that he and Cella leave while there were as few witnesses to their departure as possible. There was no telling who else amongst the townsfolk he employed might have sympathetic feelings for Gorst's avengers. He was taking no chances. But Cella was having her doubts.

All of her life, she loved being around horses, and had never been frightened of one. That was before she encountered the Elfking astride his massively muscled war steed. She had never gotten over the first time she had seen them both, on the day she and her uncle had arrived.

After that first day, Cella had only seen, and had come to admire, the handsome horse from a distance, on those rare occasions when the Elfking rode him around the vineyard. His name, she had since learned, was Alagos Storm, a fitting name for the feisty animal. And she had imagined a few times what it would be like to ride him. But now, as the great chestnut beast was being led to the main house from the stables, tossing his head and snorting with excitement, she grew faint-hearted at the idea of getting up on top of such a brute.

As much as Cella once enjoyed it, she had not gone pleasure riding for a few years, and was not sure that she wanted to start with this stamping, snorting beast being brought to the edge of the garden. She had learned how to ride when she was little, and even had her own pony when she was a girl, but it had been many years since she had been astride anything swifter than one of Uncle Dwain's fat, gentle cart horses. As respectfully as possible, she addressed the Elfking.

"My lord, if you would be so kind to lend me one of your other horses," Cella said, trying to sound brave. "I could ride along beside you. I know how to ride, don't I uncle?" Uncle Dwain was unwilling to drag his eyes away from the King's stallion, and only glanced sideways toward her for a moment before agreeing that it was true, she could hold her seat. "Maybe, Your Majesty," she suggested a bit more firmly, "you can lend me my own horse to ride?"

"There is no other mount in the stables that could keep up with Alagos," replied Thranduil mildly as he gestured for the horse to be brought near them.

The stallion was as meek as a lamb, now that he was near his master. Cella was astonished to see that the he had allowed himself to be led from the stables with only a thin rope loosely tied around his shapely neck. Alagos whickered softly and seemed to gaze at her with liquid filled brown eyes. Charmed, she had to reach out and pat his shiny coat.

"Alagos and I will put as many leagues as is possible between you and the Laketown population without delay," added the Elfking as he stepped closer to her and turned her to face him. Before Cella could voice any more protests, she was lifted at the waist and settled sideways on the warm, wide back of the large horse. She hung on to the thick, coarse mane with both hands and closed her eyes as she prepared herself to be tossed around or thrown right off.

After a few heartbeats had passed, Cella opened her eyes again. The mighty steed stood as still and calm as either of the tame cart horses she used to trot around on back home, and she lost her nervousness nearly at once. She was able to release her grip slightly and soon was petting Alagos, and almost wished she could try riding him as a man would, facing forward, with a saddle. But with her dress on, that would be impractical.

The Elfking's seneschal had brought the horse around to his monarch, removed the lead rope, and then stood by, expressionless as usual. Although he did not appear worried or upset, Cella thought she could detect in the tall Elf an attitude of weary resignation as he witnessed the scene being played out before him. She realized that it must be as distressing for these Elves as it would have been for her, to see their beloved King leave the vineyard alone. Or nearly alone, as she did not provide much protection.

With one bound, Thranduil leapt up to seat himself behind her, and his powerful physical presence was momentarily overwhelming. He spoke to his seneschal one last time while Cella tried to remember how to breathe. Her hip and leg on one side were pressed against the inside of his thighs down to his knee, and she could not move a muscle.

Although there was no saddle or reins on the horse, there were large saddlebags strapped around its chest, which provided a comfortable foot rest on the side her legs were hanging over. Next to the bag on the other side of the mount, she noticed that a sword had been placed in a scabbard. They took nothing else with them. The tall robed Elf moved closer to them as if waiting on last minute instructions.

"Navaer, na-den pedim ad," Farewell, until we see each other again, the Elfking said to Thaladir. Cella wondered if the proper seneschal disapproved of his liege lord's latest hasty decision, to rescue her from the town people. But she knew he would never say so and she was sure it would never show on his face if he did not approve.

"No i Melain na le," May the Valar be with you, replied the tall robed Elf somberly. "Sílo anor na rad lín" May the sun shine on your path.

"A na rad lín" And on your path, too. Thranduil answered.

As she watched and listened, Cella wondered how often those very words, and scenes just like this, had been repeated in the lives of these two Elves, over the centuries. The warrior King was riding away on some important business while his trusted advisor was left behind to see after the realm, and all of its subjects. Only now, the King was going home to his Kingdom, and his subjects, left behind here in the vineyard, were far from it.

"Avo 'osto, sadron nín," Don't worry, my faithful one, said the Elfking. And then he added, "Le cenithon ned lú thent." I will see you soon. The tall Elf nodded to his King, but spoke no more.

As they rode away from the garden, Cella's heart was squeezed between the grief she felt over leaving her uncle behind, and the pleasure she felt at being alone with Thranduil; close enough to touch him without being able to help it. She felt his hand on her back holding her steady as they maneuvered down the road, and she hoped he kept it there. Although her body was turned sideways, she looked ahead and sat up straight in an effort not to lean directly into him.

Even so, her shoulder and part of her side brushed against his chest with the motion of the horse, and she reveled in the sensation of his leg pressed against hers; she could feel the muscles along his inner thigh shifting as he guided the horse. His free hand rested atop his other leg. She would have liked to feel both of his arms around her, but was happy nonetheless.

But, despite all of these glorious sensations, she did wish she could have said goodbye to her friends, Milda and Ingarde. She was sure she would see the Ellith she had made friends with again much sooner, as they were all returning to the forest realm for the winter, but there was a chance she would never see the women again. At the very least, she would not meet with them again until spring. If it was safe then for her to come back. The thought that it may never be safe made her feel even sadder.

Instead of using the usual cart path, which would have taken them too near the dining-tent, the Elfking guided Alagos in a wide circle around all the vineyard buildings to meet up with the fence that ran next to the main road, but at some distance from the gate. They rode inside the fence line along a narrow path and Cella looked back up the small hill for a last view of the pressing vats and vintner's shed. When she turned to face forward, she noticed two people standing with the Elf gate guards near the entrance to the vineyard. When they lifted their arms to wave at her, she recognized them immediately in the distance, Milda and Ingarde.

The Elfking dismounted and helped Cella to the ground so she could embrace her friends. He spoke with the gate guards while the three women said farewell and promised to see each other again. Ingarde also promised to stay close to Uncle Dwain, until he was ready to be moved. And Milda, who was already planning on staying on for a few days, said that she would keep on eye on him, too.

Cella felt much better about leaving her uncle, knowing that her friends would be there to keep him company, at least he would not feel lonely. She asked them how they knew she was leaving and they told her they did not know about her. They were only told to come to the gate and so they had.

It was Nandirn, Milda and Ingarde told her, who had found them in the dining tent and advised them to come to the gate as quickly as they could get there. And it was all very secretive and mysterious, which was the perfect bait for them. Not only was Willem to be discouraged from following them, but the gray-clad Elf had made it clear that no one should be told where they were going. If it had been any other Elf who had approached them with such instructions, they both swore they would have been more skeptical, but they trusted this one and were willing to do as he directed. And were glad they did.

And what a nice surprise, they exclaimed, but a welcome relief, to see Cella being taken from the vineyard before anyone else could harm her. They approved wholeheartedly and applauded the Elfking's good sense. They only wished he would have thrashed the inadequate Laketown Sheriff while he had the chance, but otherwise believed he had made the only logical decision.

"Willem's going to ask about you, and so are a lot of the others. What should I say?" asked Milda, although she directed the last question to the Elfking, who had drawn near the women.

"Tell them Celiel is indisposed," he answered dryly. "And that she is not accepting any visitors for the rest of the day." The women giggled and said that it was such a good story; they could not wait to try it out. At least they did not have to try to fool Uncle Dwain. Cella was lifted up again onto Alagos' back, and the Elfking mounted up behind her; it was time for them to go.

"Watch out for those spiders, Cella," said Milda, wiping her eyes.

"And keep an eye out for those invisible hobbits and nasty-ghouls," added Ingarde, sniveling a little.

"It's Nazgul," corrected Milda. "You big bawling baby."

"Look who's talking," replied Ingarde.

Thranduil chuckled to himself as he guided Alagos out through the open gate and onto the main road. Cella had to lean over to look around him in order to see her friends now, and they waved to her one last time. She turned to face forward again.

"Thank you," she said. "I was worried about not saying goodbye to them."

"You have had enough worries today," replied the Elfking. Cella was glad he was so considerate toward her, but it only made her love him that much more desperately. She was surprised that after all the hurrying to get away, he kept the horse to a walk as they left the vineyard. If it was for her sake, she was grateful. But she did not see how this was going to get them very many leagues in a short time.

As they moved farther down the road, Cella could feel Alagos' growing impatience as he tried again and again to break out of the slow pace they were traveling at and into a trot. Each time he tried, she could feel Thranduil squeeze his own legs against the horse's sides, which would slow the beast back to a walk, but only for a few paces before he tried again. Cella had to laugh at the animal's constant testing. "I think he wants to run," she said, feeling sorry for him.

"Yes, he will run, but not yet," said Thranduil. Cella could tell from the tone of his voice that he was more amused than annoyed by the contest of wills. They had only gone about a mile from the gate when the road turned and the vineyard vanished from sight. And as they came all the way around the bend, a dozen Elves, dressed in the dark-green tunics that identified them as the King's private guards, were waiting on horseback beside the road. They joined their monarch as he rode along, falling in on either side and behind him.

Without speaking a word, the Elfking lifted a hand and gestured to them. As if they had practiced beforehand, they peeled off in groups of three and went in different directions; a few sped ahead, a few lagged behind, and the rest rode off of the road on both sides, where they silently melted out of her sight into the brushy landscape. She felt a slight twinge of disappointment at discovering she was not truly alone with Thranduil, after all. But it felt good to know that there were other eyes and ears around to assist them along the way.

As soon as the Elven escort had vanished from sight, Cella felt Alagos almost tremble with the need to run after the other horses, and now he was allowed to break out of his enforced walk and into a brisk trot, which turned into a lope. She felt Thranduil lean forward slightly while he clamped his legs firmly against Alagos' sides, and the great beast responded with a giant leap forward, and then he began to run. The force of his forward motion threw a startled Cella back against the Elfking's hard chest, and she reflexively grabbed at his tunic, while his arm came back around her to steady her against him.

As the miles flew by, Cella was able to release her tight grip on Thranduil's tunic, although she did not remove her hand, as she gradually adjusted to the vigorous rhythm beneath her seat made by the horse's galloping legs. She tried to turn herself to face forward again, in an effort to watch the road ahead, but the wind, caused by the speed they raced along at, whipped her hair around her face, and made her eyes tear up. It was much easier, and more comfortable, to keep her cheek pressed flat against Thranduil's chest, and watch the world fly by them sideways.

Beneath her ear, she could hear the King's heart, and lulled by its steady beat, and the rocking motion of the horse, she fell asleep.

"Caro i echad sí."Make the camp here. Cella snapped awake at the sound of Thranduil's voice, and she sat up straight and looked around in astonishment. It was evening; she and the Elfking had left the main road at some point, and were now halted in a small clearing within a thick forest. They were surrounded on all sides by unfamiliar trees. Three of the King's guards were standing before them, and the sound of rushing water signaled that they were very near a river or large stream.

Thranduil dismounted from Alagos, and lowered Cella down beside him, where she had to become reacquainted with her legs for a few moments before she could trust them enough to walk again. As she studied her new surroundings, she shifted from foot to foot until the pins-and-needles sensations in her lower limbs slowly dissipated. The Elfking removed the saddlebags from the horse and handed them to one of the green-clad Elves.

Once she was ready to move, although still somewhat shakily, Thranduil pointed out the trunk of a fallen tree. It would make an adequate bench for her to sit on while she waited for dinner. A small fire was built while the large saddlebags yielded their treasures. Clean cloths were spread out on the mossy ground and small brown loaves of bread, yellow wedges of cheese, and firm, red apples, were laid out on top of them. A fresh brace of rabbits were being dressed for roasting on an improvised spit.

As usual, Cella watched the graceful Wood-elves with fascinated admiration at the way they moved both swiftly and silently, while leaving no tiny detail undone. She felt obligated to pitch in and help them, but her timid offers were politely refused. The Elfking had led Alagos off somewhere out of sight in the forest and, before they ate, he returned to escort her to the river's edge so she could freshen up.

The deep forest was always in perpetual shade except for at those places where daylight could reach through unimpeded, like the clearing they all sat in. But, the sun had already sunk lower than the treetops before they had arrived, and the shadows had long since returned. Cella was out in the wild world, and she loved it. In the evening's gloom, the river water had looked like liquid silver as it splashed and played over large, smooth boulders. She could hear ravens cawing out to one another as they gathered together for their night's rest.

After they were finished eating, and clearing up the area after the meal, the silent Wood-elves melted away into the forest, and Cella was alone with the Elfking. The fire had been allowed to die down to a few flickering flames that barely lit the campsite, and the sky overhead glittered with stars.

There was one more trip to the riverside, and then the saddlebags gave up another hidden treasure when Thranduil removed the velvety suede cloak, and shook it out to make a bed for her to lie down on. Once she was settled in its center, he covered her with the rest of it, wrapping her tenderly with one flap tucked under the other. She wished he would kiss her, but knew he would not. Probably not ever again.

"You must sleep now," he said. "We are safe here." He left her there and went to sit next to a tree on the other side of the fire, but faced away from her so she could not see his eyes. Lying on her side, she could just make out his silhouette in the gloom. The dying fire defined an elbow here, a bent knee there, and part of one hand, but the rest of him was hidden in shadow. She amused herself for a while by reliving how wonderful it had been to lean against his chest as they rode today, and to wake up there, too.

But Cella was not even a little sleepy, although her body was weary from sitting for so long in one position, and it felt good to stretch out her legs. She turned over on her back and for a long time she gazed up at the small glittering patch of stars visible through the opening in the trees. She wondered what the Elfking was doing, sitting over there on the other side of the campfire, and she lifted herself to see him. He was gazing upwards, too, at the same stars she had been watching.

"I said it is time for you to sleep, firiel," he said quietly, without turning his head. With a sigh, Cella laid back down and turned onto her other side, and pretended to be asleep as she thought about him. She wondered what he would do for the rest of the night while she slept, if she ever did. She imagined him sitting and staring at the stars for hours. Or, maybe he would wait until he was sure she was asleep and then leave her there to wander around in his beloved forest? Or would he just fall asleep sitting there?

The more she thought about him, the more awake and restless she became. The ground started to feel more uncomfortable, and the freedom to stretch felt less and less relaxing. She sat up. The Elfking's body was turned now in such in a way that he was entirely in shadow, but she could tell he was awake by his posture.

"What is on your mind, Celiel?" he asked.

"Do Elves never sleep, Your Majesty?" She worried that he had not heard her, because he did not speak for a while, or in any way indicate that he acknowledged her existence. But, she waited, instead of repeating the question, and watched what she could see of him in the glow of the dying campfire, as he sat still and silent, across from her.

To combat the growing chill from the night air, Cella had to pull the cloak up and around her shoulders, but she did not want to lie back down. Being outdoors, deep within the shadows of a thick forest, made her feel free to abandon the type of civilized notions that were appropriate in a shelter with four walls and a ceiling. Just because it was night, did that mean she had to go to sleep? She thought not.

And it was not completely dark, although the shadows that surrounded them were deep. The moon had not yet lifted high enough into the night sky to reach down into the small clearing. She caught a glint of firelight in the Elfking's eye as he shifted around toward her. Now that he was turned back toward the campfire, his face was illuminated, and visible, which made her happy.

"Yes, Elves sleep," he answered. "Although not in the same way a mortal does, or with such abandon. As you should be doing now. Lie down, you need to rest." As if to show her a good example, he stretched his legs out straight, crossing one over the other, and folded his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, but she knew he was not sleeping.

However, it was nicer to look at him now that she could see his face, and with his eyes closed he would not see her staring. A long while passed in silence, except for the music the river made, and the chirping of crickets. She thought it was possible that she might sit and watch him pretend to sleep until daybreak; she had nothing better to do. As she sat there, loving him with all of her heart, he opened an eye and looked at her. She smiled.

"I can't fall asleep," she said. "Until you tell me how Elves sleep differently from mortals, and with less abandon." Both of Thranduil's eyes were open now, and he regarded her for some moments in silence again, before he answered.

"You remind me," he said at last, "of an Elfling I once had a similar conversation with. Only he wanted to know how mortals slept differently from Elves, and claimed he would not rest until he learned."

"An Elfling?" she asked, it was the first time she had heard the term.

"An Elf child," he explained. "Only that happened many, many years ago. And he is not a child any more."

"And I am not a child any more, either," said Cella.

t b c


	24. Chapter 24?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 24

"In a way, you speak the truth, and indeed you are not a child. I did not mean to say that you are," the Elfking replied to Cella's declaration of adulthood. "For in the eyes of other mortals, you are a woman." His deflating answer indicated that he had not understood at all what she had meant by her remark. Or, he had understood, but was not moved in the direction she had wished he would move. It was up to her, she understood instantly, to find a way to close the gap between them.

Although she nodded silently, as if in agreement, Cella was barely listening to his words. She pulled her eyes away from him and stared into the dimly glowing remains of the dying fire. She knew that she had no one to blame but herself for being seen, and treated, as a child.

And it was only after she had told Thranduil that she was not a child anymore that Cella seemed to fully realize it herself. She was a grown woman. But it did not seem to make her current situation any easier. He was sitting so close that she could reach him with only a few steps, and it was dark, and they were alone.

However, he may as well have been sitting on top of the Lonely Mountain, while she sat at its base, for they were that far apart. Actually, it was a distance so vast that it could not be measured by any amount of space in between them. It was the distance between the sun and the earth.

If she wanted this handsome Elf to see her as a woman, she had to behave like one. She decided that now was the perfect opportunity to try something truly daring,; she would attempt to send him a message without words. A very clear message.

But she was not sure how to do it. A shiver ran through her, and she pulled the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. As if waiting for her to give such a signal, the Elfking rose and tended to the dying campfire. There was a tidy pile of branches nearby, which the Wood-elves had gathered earlier, and after he raked together the last of the glowing embers out of the ashes of the campfire, he placed a few of the smallest pieces of wood on top of them, which quickly ignited.

Cella's chilled face and exposed fingers felt the difference within moments. A few more branches were laid on the blaze, and she stretched her hands out to meet the warmth. The flames did not frighten her, because they were contained in a ring of smooth stones collected from the river. And the Elfking was there.

"When are you going to tell me how Elves sleep differently?" she asked him. It was a question meant to stall for time. She needed to gather her nerve before she attempted to send him a picture with her mind, and she still had to decide what it was that she wanted him to see.

"I think you cannot sleep because you are far from your bed, rather than having any curiosity about the sleeping habits of Elves," he said as he finished laying the wood on the fire. "And you are probably feeling the effects of the natural tonic to the spirit that occurs from exposure to starlight and the music of my river," he added, while settling himself back down next to his tree. "It is useless to fight against it, I can see."

Cella looked up at the stars and wondered if he was right. She had not slept for very long on horseback, and she had barely slept at all the night before, so she should be tired now. But, she did not feel in the least bit weary. It was exhilarating to be out of doors in the dark.

Perhaps what she was feeling was nothing more than the enchantment of Thranduil's forest with its magical atmosphere. And because of that enchantment, she was not thinking clearly, and had allowed herself to be swept away into unknown and possibly dangerous territory, by her foolish heart.

She reminded herself about all of things she had sworn to do, if she could just get out of the Elfking's bedroom unseen, that dreadful morning of the fire. She had promised herself she was going to use her common sense, keep her feet planted, and not push herself on him. A sense of relief washed over her as she decided to stick with her resolutions, and be satisfied with enjoying his company while she had him to herself, instead of trying to provoke him with her thoughts.

"The stars are beautiful, My Lord, they do dazzle my eyes," she said. "Why do they look so much bigger and brighter here? I feel as if I could reach out and touch them, although they look like they might feel sharp, they glitter so fiercely." She stopped, feeling that she was babbling, and probably annoying to listen to.

Again, Thranduil was silent for a moment before he answered her, but she did not feel anxious during the pause. She was adjusting to his rhythm of conversation. Unlike Milda and Ingarde, who raced each other to respond to every question she asked, even if they did not know the answer, the Elfking naturally took his time before he spoke.

He finally explained, using his hands to help describe what he meant, about how the thick forest that surrounded the clearing provided a frame for the small patch of night sky over their heads, which magnified the brilliant points of light caught within it. She returned her eyes to the stars while she listened to him, and reveled in the way their glittering brilliance seemed to transport her out of her heavy earthbound self, and pull her upwards, as if she were flying.

It was the same way the Elfking's smile had made her feel at times, this light as a feather sensation. It made Cella feel cheerful enough to sing, and she had to stifle giggles that threatened to bubble up and out from within her. Over by his tree, sitting still as a stone, the Elfking's serene voice and patient tone seemed to challenge her.

And so she changed her mind about settling for enjoying his company, and decided that provoking him into action was exactly what she wanted to do, after all. Although she regarded it more as a test to see if she really could reach him with her thoughts, and break through that placid and unmovable exterior.

After Cella had learned that Thranduil could read her mind, or 'hear' her if she called, as he had put it, she had been careful to keep her thoughts about him as inoffensive and bland as she could, in case he accidentally 'overheard' them. She had already learned that it was not possible to never think about him, so that was out of the question. Instead, she monitored herself, and did not try to deliberately communicate directly with him through her mind.

Except for that one time when he had fled, after he had kissed her, and she had wanted him to return to her. He had not come back. Maybe she had not done it right? It had not been a proper test, she reasoned, because she knew at the time he would not respond. He might not respond to her tonight, either, but she decided that she was going to try it anyway.

At the very least, he would know how she felt about him, and how much she wanted to find a way across the enormous distance between them, or even to meet him halfway. And she knew that she had reached him, that he had heard her, once before. If she could just repeat those steps, would it work again?

As she pretended to be absorbed with star-gazing, she swiftly reviewed everything the Elfking had told her about hearing her thoughts when he had danced with her. He promised that he could only know what she wanted him to know. 'Do not fear me,' were his words. 'Your mind is safe from me. It will always be your choice for me to know your thoughts.'

On the night Gorst had hurt her, she had imagined the Elfking's face in her mind, in every detail. But she had done that many times before and since, and so she knew there was more to it than that. She had also wished for him to rescue her. Here, beside the campfire, she tried to calculate what part was most important and in what order she should proceed.

Should she start with imagining his face? Or, should she begin with a wish? What if it was necessary to do both of them at the same time? And what, exactly, did she want him to do? Perhaps she should start with something simple to begin with? Just a kiss? She closed her eyes, and tried it.

After a few moments, she learned that sending him a thought-picture wish for another kiss was not as easy as she had assumed it would be. What picture should she imagine? And then what should she wish for, exactly? Did she want him to leap up and grab her into his arms? No, she would rather he gently approached her. She shivered again, at the notion of him slowly drawing near to her. But, did she have to wish for it simultaneously with whatever she saw in her mind? And the fact that she could almost feel him sitting so near did not make it any easier.

Flustered from the effort, Cella opened her eyes, shook her head slightly, as if to shake off dust and cobwebs, and then looked over at the Elfking. The fire's glow illuminated him in a fascinating fashion. He was looking up at the night sky and the coppery light from the flames made his shimmering hair and perfect profile stand out in sharp contrast against the dark background of his tunic and the surrounding night and shadow. She studied his mouth, and knew what she had to do; she closed her eyes again and tried to recall what it felt like when he had kissed her.

But, what exactly should she remember? For some reason, she could not form a clear picture of his face while he kissed her. It must be because her eyes were closed at the time. Should she concentrate instead on how he had looked right before it, while he was lowering his face to hers? Did she really need to have a picture of his face in her mind?

Her mind seemed to flit from image to image, as if it had become a hopping toad instead of a thinking instrument. The harder she tried to settle on something in particular about the time he had kissed her, the vaguer all of it became. Her heart was pounding, too, as she anticipated how he was going respond, when she finally succeeded, if she could ever get her thoughts to calm down long enough and be still.

She let her breath out in an aggravated sigh and opened her eyes again.

"What is it?" asked the Elfking, not turning his face from the stars.

"Nothing important," she answered, and then added with a low chuckle. "I was just thinking about something you told me, about how our mortal minds work. I am finding out how true it is, what you said." He looked over toward her, with a puzzled expression.

"What did I say about mortal minds that would make you so agitated?" he asked.

"It was about how we can never keep them still." Cella shook her head, and accepted defeat for the time being. She obviously needed more practice on her own. Sending him a message with her thoughts was not going to work right now. "I think I am going to go to sleep," she added.

"Good," said Thranduil. "Sleep is... sleep is good." She nodded mutely in agreement and then, remembering her manners, murmured goodnight to him. With a sigh, she moved a short distance away from the fire and arranged herself, with the cloak wrapped around her, on the soft forest floor, lying on her side, facing away from him. She felt irritated, and more than a little out of sorts.

After a few moments, his last words to her finally reached her consciousness. 'Sleep is...," he had said, "sleep is good'. Why had he said that? 'Sleep is good'? What a thing to say! Of course sleep is good, was that ever in dispute? She thought about asking him what he meant by it, and then decided that he would think she had lost her mind. She would just be quiet instead. And not think about him anymore.

What else had he said? There was something else he mentioned that tickled around the edges of her mind. Oh yes, he had said something that she had found easy to disregard at the time, because she was so determined to change his mind. But now that she had given up that effort, she could not stop his words from returning, '...in the eyes of other mortals,' he had said, 'you are a woman'. In the eyes of other mortals.

She had not let the full importance of those words sink all the way in until now. He could only have meant one thing. In the eyes of the Elves, she was a child. Would always be a child, and would never be considered an equal. No matter how many years she had lived. She would always be a child in their eyes. And that hurt, because, sadly enough, she could provide no counter-argument.

According to the time line in the seneschal's history lessons, when he had told her and her friends about all the dark years of Mirkwood, the Elfking must be thousands of years old. In comparison to him, she was an infant. She imagined that he regarded her as a toddler, who needed picking up every time she fell.

No wonder he had withdrawn from her that night, after he had kissed her. Whatever desire he had felt for her must have disgusted him; she had seen that so clearly on his regretful face, but not until this minute did she realize what she had seen.

He would never come to her, could never come, and Cella burned inside as all of her romantic notions turned to ashes. What a cruel fate she had been born to endure. It did not seem right to be considered an untouchable child merely because she belonged to the wrong race. And she had no interest in those mortal men who did not see her as a child. She was doomed. Before she knew what was happening, or could do anything to stop it, her eyes filled and then spilled over with tears.

Furious with herself, she wiped at her cheeks and tried to stop the tears. It was hopeless. The best she could do was not to sob out loud. Her nose needed attention, and she had to breathe through her mouth to keep from sniffing as she reached down within the confines of the swaddling cloak. She was able to pull the hem of her dress up to her face for a makeshift handkerchief.

"Celiel, are you weeping?" The Elfking's voice cut through her grief and stopped her tears. But, she could not answer yet without her voice giving her away, so she could not immediately deny the truth, as she would have liked to have been able to do. It would take a few moments of stern inner lecturing before she could bring herself back under enough control to reply to him. "Are you unwell?" he asked her.

His beautiful voice sounded sincerely concerned about her welfare, which only made her feel sadder. Did he not know that when he spoke to her with such consideration, it only made her love him more? Must he always be so kind to her? She squeezed her eyes shut tight as a fresh wave of anguish swept through her. She knew, and with spirit-dulling certainty, that she would be forever denied his heart; it was off limits, unattainable. But she loved him so much that she could not possibly survive it.

It was sheer, blatant torture, to be so near him like this, and yet be so far apart. But she had some pride left, and she had to say something to satisfy his query. Cella steeled herself and forbade herself from showing any emotion in her voice when she replied.

"I am not unwell, Sire. I am missing my uncle," she lied. He would have to accept that answer, because it was not possible for her to say another word to him. Somewhere in the distance, an owl was calling, at least possibly an owl. Thranduil said nothing, and after a time she was able to calm down even more. It was not his fault he was so perfect and regal and lovable, and all at the same time. It was not her fault that she could not stop loving him. It was just... so... unfair.

And she wept again, even harder, and this time it was impossible to prevent herself from sniffling a little, even though she had the wadded-up hem of her dress pressed to her face. And the thought of what the mangled up mess of her skirt was going to look like in the morning made her cry even harder. When she felt something touch her shoulder, she gasped and flipped over onto her back. The Elfking was crouched beside her, on one knee.

"Why are you weeping?" he asked again. "You must tell me. Are you in pain?" He looked worried, and she felt guilty.

After pulling the loose flap of his cloak over her face to hide from him, she answered, although it was a bit muffled, "I'm fine. Nothing is wrong, really." She held her breath and listened for him to move away, but she heard nothing. She refused to peek out to see what he was doing, even though she was tempted.

What did he expect her to say? 'I am crying because I love you, and it hurts knowing I can not ever have your love in return'? Just imagining saying that to him made the tears return. The soft suede of the cloak she hid beneath clung to her wet cheeks and she wondered if it would smother her if she did not move it away from her nose. The idea captivated her. She was willing to die for love.

The Elfking had other ideas. Slowly, he peeled the cloak away from her face, wiped the damp hair from her face and then studied her closely. Cella felt like she was being lifted from a swamp of misery that she had unwittingly stumbled into, and she could feel her battered spirit reviving, almost instantly. Whenever he touched her, it was a healing touch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I really don't mean to be so bothersome. I was weeping, you were right. I feel sad, and I am not sure why."e IIN

"I do not believe you. You do know why," he replied. "Now, will you tell me?"

The truth left Cella's mouth before she could stop it, "I love you." She clapped her hand over her traitorous mouth and tried to turn her face to hide from him again. But Thranduil stopped her by placing his hand on her chin and gently turning her back to look at him. He smiled down at her, and she stopped feeling afraid. As long as he kept his fingers like that on her face, she would be fine.

"Do you think you have hidden your emotions from me tonight?" he asked, and then, softly, almost as a whisper, "Or your desires?" She moaned, and closed her eyes. If he would not let her hide, then she would shut him out of her sight. But he was not discouraged by her gesture.

"The life span of a mortal is akin to me as a shooting star is to you," he said. "And although all such mortal lives are brief, just like those falling stars, some are more brilliant than others." She opened her eyes again, and watched his face as he spoke to her. "I do not deny that I am tempted, and sorely tested, by that brilliance. But to capture a star to keep for my own is a sin, Celiel. Do you understand?"

Without speaking, she nodded, even though she did not understand at all. Was he saying again what he had said before, that it was wrong for him to desire her? How was that supposed to make anything better?

"But," she managed to say, "I still love you. And now you say that I have to suffer for being brilliant?" His reaction was swift, his eyebrows drew down and he shook his head, but before he could speak, she added, "Because that is how I feel, that I have to be denied what I desire, because you can not allow yourself to share what I desire with me."

"There is more to what you think you want than you can imagine," he answered firmly. At hearing those words, Cella abandoned every resolution she had made to use reason, and common sense, when dealing with the Elfking. And all the rest of the prohibitions she had placed on her behavior. She only knew that at some point, her heart took over, and overruled everything else within her.

"I know there is more than I can imagine," Cella admitted. "And it scares me to think of it. But, that does not stop me from imagining." Deliberately, she brought the kiss back into her memory, and relived it, looking into his eyes.

"Stop that," he said, and she could detect the strain beneath his words. "You do not know what you are doing."

"You are tempted by me," she said. "And I want you to love me, and that is all I know."

t b c


	25. Chapter 25?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 25

A hush had fallen over the forest after Cella spoke boldly to the Elfking about her love for him. The softly whispering leaves were still, the crackling fire was muted, the river's music faded. It felt as if the entire world was holding its breath.

Thranduil hovered over her but did not speak. His back was to the fire, and his face was in shadow, but his eyes shone with the curious light she had seen before that seemed to be kindled deep within his regal soul. She waited and wondered what he would do, or say. He had asked her for the truth, and she had told it to him.

The sudden spell of silence was broken when, off in the distance, she once again heard the night-bird calling. Thranduil heard it too, of course, and he looked out into the darkness, as if interested by the sound.

"It's an owl, isn't it?" she asked.

"No, it is Emlin," he answered, referring to one of the Wood-elves that he had earlier sent into the trees to keep watch. "He is telling me that all is well," he added. "My forest sleeps in peace."

Not all of it, Cella thought to herself as she wiped at her still wet eyes, there was at least one little piece of this forest that was not peaceful. Although she found it comforting to know that they were being watched over by Thranduil's guards, and that all was well beyond the clearing they were in, it was disturbing to be reminded that they were not truly alone.

Could it get any worse? She, a lowly mortal maid, was far from home and at the mercy of this royal Elf in his great forest. She had just declared her love to him, and had nearly dared him to have his way with her. Even though he had told her that he had forbidden himself to be tempted by her. And that he would never see her as anything but a child.

What a world. Her face, her dress, and her life, were all a mess. And on top of this, they were probably being watched by Wood-elves. That made it even less likely that the Elfking would kiss her tonight, no matter how many more silent messages she sent to him. She would try again some other time. And she would never stop trying.

But right now, Cella finally felt tired, and was prepared to surrender to the Elfking's insistence that she give up her quest to break through his resistance to her. Only temporarily would she give up, and she planned to ponder on her dilemma in miserable silence for the rest of the night. She had one more point to make before she did that. It was nearly hopeless for her to expect him to take her seriously, but she was determined to make him see her as more than a child, who did not know her own heart, before she said good night.

She tried to move and found herself bound by his cloak wrapped around her arms. After she had freed her hands from within the velvety suede, she was able to push herself up to sit to speak to him. He was close enough to her that she could have reached out and touched him, if he would only let her. But she knew better than to try. She put her hands back inside the cloak and kept them there.

"Even if you never kiss me again," she said slowly, "or do anything else that you might feel tempted to do, I will still love you. In fact, I will never stop loving you. You may outlast or outlive my love, but you will never convince me to stop feeling it. Never." Even in the darkness, she could see him smiling at her words.

"I believe that you say 'never' far too easily," he said, his voice kind. "Do you even know the true meaning of that word?"

"No, I don't," she admitted. "At least probably not as well as you do," she added. "But, I know now what I need to survive, Sire. And I cannot see how that could ever change."

He shook his head as he rose from beside her and then crouched down again by the fire. As he raked the coals together and laid more firewood upon them, he said, "There is a difference in what is needed in order to survive and what you only think you must have..." At that, Cella sat up straighter and drew in her breath to protest, but the Elfking held his hand up and gestured for her to keep silent. She cast her eyes down and waited for him to finish.

Satisfied, he continued, repeating his last few words emphatically first, "What you only think you must have in order to satisfy these temporary cravings, or desires, for what you do not know." She sighed. Could he be more discouraging?

After he was finished with the fire, the Elfking brushed his hands off and settled himself down to sit right where he was, stretching one leg out and bending his other knee up, while laying his arm over it. He continued, "There is a vast difference. And the realization of the difference between what you need, and what think you want, will serve you well, firiel. It will greatly lessen your discomfort in doing without that which could ultimately harm you."

Yes, she realized, he could be more discouraging. However, despite her youth, her ignorance of the world, and her innocence, Cella was a woman, and carried within her heart the wisdom of all the ages of women who had come before her, and given her life. From deep within her soul, the very well of her existence, the truth shone pure. Despite his words, she would not give up.

And she was not stupid; she knew there was no chance to change this Elf's mind, at least not this night. But she found that it was not possible to surrender to his ideas about her without a fight. He might move himself away from her, and even try to belittle her, but he would not deny her the right to love him. And he was wrong this time.

"I know very well, Your Majesty, that what I actually need to survive are air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat, and things such as that. But why I need to survive, my reason and my purpose in this world, had never been clear to me until I realized that I loved you. And what I feel about you, it is no temporary craving," she told him. "And I am not afraid to show you, Sire, even if I don't know how. I know that you will never harm me."

She could see his body shift, but only slightly, and wondered if she had reached him at all, and if she would ever be able to tell if she had. But when he turned to face her again as he spoke, his tone was severe.

"Celiel, I am, indeed, a king, because I know how to rule myself first. What you ask of me is to go against my word, and my obligation is to protect you, even from yourself. I do not expect such restraint on your part, which is why I have to be all the more vigilant, for both of us." This was not going well. What good was it, Cella wondered, to be a king if you had to worry about such things?

"I always thought that a king can make his own laws, Sire." She instantly regretted saying it. The sound of her own words made her cringe. Clearly, she was losing ground; she felt it slipping out from under her, whatever progress she had made. If she had made any at all.

"There is no need to discuss this further, except to say this," he answered. "Your uncle has put his trust in me to protect you." She could tell his jaw was clenched by the distinct way each separate word was pronounced as he uttered them, as if he was biting each one off before spitting out the next. "And he expects me to treat you respectfully."

"Yes, Sire." She was meek in her response this time; however, she did not feel meek. "But why is it disrespectful to let me love you as I wish?"

"Do you think your uncle would be pleased to learn that I took you on this forest floor, rutting with you like a wild animal? Is that what you take me for? Is that what you take yourself for? This conversation is finished." His words were harsh, his tone was stern, but instead of chastening her, what he said inflamed her.

"I don't care what my uncle will think, or what anyone will think!" she cried out. "Now that I know that you want me as much as I want you, do you think I can just forget that?"

Everything around her turned blurry as tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill again, which made her angry. She dashed them away with her fist. To prevent from making a complete fool out of herself, she stopped talking. After she took a few deep breaths she remembered what it was she had set out to do, and was able to continue with a much calmer tone of voice.

"I will always wish for you to welcome me into your arms, and into your heart, Your Majesty," she said. "Even if you keep telling me that you will not and even if you tell me that every day until the day I die. You know nothing about the way a woman's heart works." It was not as if she knew either, but she was learning, and it felt good to say it.

After the longest silence of the night, the Elfking finally responded, and his voice was kind again. "Ah, firiel, never have you aimed one of your darts so accurately. It is the truth as you say it. I find that I know very little about the way a mortal heart works, especially the heart of a mortal maid. Your feelings of affection for me are a mystery, I vow." She could swear she heard him chuckle, so low and quietly that it was difficult to tell, but he no longer sounded harsh and angry as he continued to speak.

"I am more accustomed to mortals cringing in fear when I am near them, women especially, and avoiding my presence at all cost. Your uncle is one of the only mortals I have met who was willing to look me in the eye at first meeting."

His words made her smile. She almost felt sorry for the lordly Elf being stuck with a bewildering love-sick female in the middle of his beloved forest. And she had once feared him, and avoided him, so she knew that he spoke the truth about other women. At least the ones she knew about at the vineyard.

Milda and Ingarde alone, of all the other women there, were not terrified to be near him, and that was only after he had persuaded them that he was not dangerous by caring for Cella when she was recovering from Gorst's attack. And the fact that he had allowed them free access to her, and the Elves' kitchen, while she was staying in his bedchamber. But none of the other women amongst the vineyard workers, and most of the men for that matter, dared approach him or speak to him directly. It was something to marvel over, that she was a mystery to him the way he was to her.

However, with all of the inborn instincts of her gender on high alert, she finally sensed an opening in the Elfking's impenetrable armor. Her weapons were few, and soft, and dull, and she was not skilled in their use, so they would need to be wielded with careful attention. She looked back up into the night sky and found a tiny pinpoint of light in the heavens to wish upon for luck. And she was inspired by the stars overhead, and knew just what she had to do.

Cautiously, she moved to sit next to him, as close as she could without touching him, and looked straight ahead instead of at his face. And then, after silently choosing her words with more care than she even knew she was capable of, she wrapped his cloak tightly around herself, and looked back up at the stars before speaking.

"Before I came to your vineyard," she began. "I knew nothing about Elves, either, except that they were marvelous in their deeds, and mysterious in their nature. When I was younger, I dreamed of visiting with the Fair Folk, and I even dared to imagine living with them. From all the tales I was told, Elves seemed to have the answers to the secrets of the world. Now I am living in my dream, and I do not want to wake up."

She paused there, and waited. This was going to take time, and she did not know if she would reach him at all, but she had a feeling that she would this time, if she did not lose heart, and she had to start somewhere.

"It is always good to have dreams, Celiel," replied Thranduil. "It has been my experience that a dullness of spirit too often comes when dreams are wholly surrendered to reality. I would never ask or expect you to give up yours. Do you understand this?"

"Yes, Sire," she answered reluctantly, not sure if she should. "I think I understand. It is good to have dreams."

"Yes. And I say that because I do not want you to mistake what I have to say next," he said as he gazed at her intently. "To dream is good, Celiel, but to confuse a dream with reality is almost always unwise, and can even be dangerous."

Dangerous? How was that possible? She sighed and shook her head, but kept quiet and did not contradict him out loud. She had a feeling he would say something like this, but at least he was still talking, after he had declared the conversation finished just moments ago.

He had paused when she sighed, and now continued, although to her, it seemed as if he was speaking to himself. "Indeed, for mortal man, this appears to be the most difficult task to master, with such a brief time to learn it. The permanent temptation of life is to confuse dreams with reality. To know the difference between when it is safe to drift in dreams and when it is necessary to be fully awake is often a journey fraught with peril."

"I am always fully awake when I am with you," Cella answered and then added, "You said that mortals are like shooting stars to you; don't you see how you are like the sun to me, Your Majesty? Only, your light has never stopped shining since the moment I first saw you, and there is no night in my life any more. All of the stars have permanently faded and disappeared. I will never go back to that darkness, at least not willingly."

"And I will never let you waste your life dreaming of what can never happen," said Thranduil matter-of-factly. Intuitively, Cella realized that she needed to surrender completely first to the will of the Elfking before she could proceed further.

"If you are saying that nothing further than that one kiss will ever happen between us, then I will have to accept that, and learn to be happy about it," she replied.

Without knowing how she knew it was safe to do so, as she spoke she rose up to her knees in order to be at eye level with him. He was turned sideways to her, so she put a hand on his shoulder, as if to steady herself. What she planned on doing was, as he had said, fraught with peril. She bit her lip and drew whatever courage she had inside before she continued to venture into uncharted territory.

"Of course you are right about me, you always are," she began. "I really don't want you to take me on the forest floor like an animal, Sire. And I think I owe you an apology for thinking you would do so." He did not seem to notice she was touching him and she left her hand where it was.

"Good," he replied after a moment's pause, pleased. "You have done no harm to me; there is no need to apologize." It was not easy to move closer to him while she was on her knees, because of the way the cloak was wrapped around her legs, which hindered her. But she managed.

"Yes, there is," she said with regret, not smiling anymore. "And I am truly very sorry. I practically begged you to disrespect me, and yourself, and my uncle, or at least to go back on your words to him" she said. "And I really don't want you to do any of that, either."

"Good," he said again, even more pleased. "I am pleased to hear that you have more self respect than that."

As if she agreed with him wholeheartedly, Cella nodded vigorously. She could tell he thought he had finally gotten through to her, had finally convinced her with his words of wisdom to give up her foolish, childish, temporary mortal desires. Then she leaned into him, and spoke right into his ear, with her lips nearly pressed against his silky fragrant hair.

"But if a lost little star that accidentally fell from the sky wanted to crawl into your arms and briefly find some comfort there, would that be such a sin?" When he turned to face her, their noses nearly touched. She did not budge for a few breathless moments. She waited.

"You... do not fight fair," he was able to say to her at last. But it no longer mattered, because before the last words had left his lips, she had worked her way around his bent knee, and slipped into his lap, and he had to hold onto her, or she would have fallen off. She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled up into his face, triumphantly. "I have fought hosts of orcs who fight more fairly than you," he added, which made her giggle. But he did not push her away.

"I promise I won't hurt you," she said, trying to suppress her grin. But then she stopped smiling, and was serious as she added, "And I won't ask you to love me back anymore, either. You don't ever have to love me, Sire. I will love you enough for both of us." With a happy sigh, she closed her eyes, and enjoyed being held by him.

The forest was silent again, another hush had fallen, and again she heard Emlin's imitation owl call. Thranduil's realm still slept in peace. As she felt herself drifting off, finally, and nearly instantly, to sleep, while nestled securely in the only arms she wanted to be embraced within, she heard him speak to her one more time.

"Do not think that my heart has not been opened to you, firiel. Just because I will not love you the way you want me to, does not mean that I do not already love you with all that I have." Her eyes opened.

His admission was not exactly pleasant, or flowery, or poetic, but at that moment in time, it felt like all that she had ever wanted to hear.

"That is enough for me, Sire," she replied. "Just to be near you, is enough for me." For now, she added silently. It was more than enough for now.

T b c

A/N: RL is kicking my butt lately, that is why only one chapter a week. I have some other obligations, both at home and at work, that are keeping me away from my pc. Please bear with me, if I had the time, you would have the chapters!


	26. Chapter 26?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 26/?

Cella was not sure what awoke her; the crackling of the freshly lit campfire, the cheerful chattering morning birdsong, or the Elfking's murmuring voice. She found she was still within the embrace of His Majesty, and that realization, more than the noises, brought her to full alertness. She stayed quiet with her eyes closed and listened to what he was saying, as she enjoyed her cozy sleeping arrangement while it lasted. She did not want to stir, and signal her wakefulness, until she was ready to leave his arms.

He was not speaking to her, but to one of his Wood-elves, that much she could tell, but they spoke of simple, ordinary things, such as the weather that day -- fair, and the presence of enemies within the forest-- none, and the likelihood of having an uneventful day of travel-- quite highly likely.

But it was another voice that echoed within her mind as she woke. It had been a dream, but as clearly as if her uncle was standing beside her, she heard him saying his favorite words of wisdom about patience. After all these years, his saying, added to his lessons about how things grow, finally made sense. "First the stalks, then the roots, next the vine and last the fruit, that's the way it works, not the other way around".

Patiently, the tiniest root will find a crack in the firmest rock, and split it wide open. Cella had planted her stalks last night, as well as she could, and as far as she dared, and now she had to have faith that they would grow roots. And if such an opening existed in the firm resolve that surrounded the Elfking's noble heart, then her efforts would eventually produce the desired results. For the time being, it was best to retreat and behave as if she had learned her lesson from him, and would not pursue her desires.

She discovered that while she was asleep, she had worked an arm out of the cloak and rested it on his chest. It lay there now, and she wished she had the courage to slip it around him and hug him. As she continued her pretense of sound sleep, she thought of how nice it was going to be to ride with him again today on Alagos, and feel his legs against her thigh. And this time she would be wide awake.

As soon as it occurred to Cella that the sooner she 'woke up' and they got on the road, the sooner she would be on horseback with the Elfking, she opened her eyes and sat up straight. Next to her and Thranduil were all three of the green-clad guards, crouched down on their haunches.

"How was your sleep?" asked the Elfking. He gestured to the other Elves to leave the area and Cella waited until they left before she answered him.

"I can't believe I slept at all after all those things I said to you," answered Cella, already prepared with what she was going to say. "And those cruel things you said to me." She smiled, however, to show no hard feelings. And she decided not to mention the last words he spoke about loving her, which truly did keep awake for a long while as she pondered them.

"You were very bold last night, firiel" said Thranduil pleasantly as he moved her off of his lap and stood. "I hope you will have mercy on me this day."

"I only live to please you, Sire," replied Cella. "Of course I will do anything you say."

"We shall call a truce this morn and have our breakfast in peace, then," declared the Elfking.

His tone, more than his kind words, made her feel better about how she was going to cope with the consequences of her rash speech the night before. She nodded shyly and he lifted his eyebrows when she held out a hand to shake his, in a gesture that indicated a successfully negotiated bargain. He shook her hand and then pulled her to her feet and led her to the river where she could wash her face and hands.

She figured that this was the same river the wine barrels would be traveling on to the Elfking's halls. The water was shrouded with mist, and there were birds in the trees on either bank, but no other type of animal to be seen along the stony beach. As she splashed her hands in the chilly water, she could see fish darting around under the surface. Despite the lack of wildlife along the riverbanks, she did not believe this was the forbidden river she had learned about from Thaladir while still at the vineyard.

From the seneschal's lessons, she knew there were two rivers that protected Thranduil's halls. One of them had black water that was enchanted, and if you drank from it, swam in it, or even touched it, you would fall instantly to sleep. No traffic was allowed on it except in Elf-made boats. She had never asked if any fish swam in that magical sleepy river; perhaps she would ask Thranduil about that later on today.

After she had freshened up, he took her back to the fallen tree she had sat on the day before. The saddlebags were lying on the ground there and he rummaged within them while she sat studying her surroundings.

It was a new day, but the sun had not yet risen high enough to reach down into the dark and shady clearing they had camped in. Straight overhead, where the stars had hung within their frame the night before, a patch of clear blue sky was visible. For a moment, Cella imagined that this must be the view from the bottom of a well. The Elfking put a cloth on the wide surface of the fallen tree and laid out some bread and fruit for their morning meal.

The pre-dawn mist that rose from the river had dampened their surroundings and still clung to the ground all around them, although it was dissipating. The trees around them seemed to hover above the forest floor on a bank of wispy clouds. Cella could hear the sound of water dripping from leaves and branches.

But the dim daylight was enough to allow her to recognize the trees. They were the same ones she had seen carved into the roof of the Elfking's canopy on his royal bed. Only, these real trees seemed ancient and gnarled and much messier with drooping branches draped in lichen and trunks greened by moss.

As she studied the surrounding woods, she recalled the wall hangings in the Elves' living area at the vineyard. Many of them had depicted parties of Elves hunting for stags or boars. Others showed pleasant scenes of the Fair Folk surrounded by friendly furred creatures, such as rabbits or foxes. But here, like beside the river, except for tiny birds that flitted about the edges of the campsite looking for crumbs, there was no other wildlife to be seen.

Thranduil told her that many animals lived in the forest, but were shy around mortals, and were peeking at her from a safe distance. She peered into the trees, but saw nothing there but thick brush and tall ferns.

Today, they would arrive at his halls, and she would see the great gate that had been pictured in the Elves' tapestries, too. As they ate breakfast, he informed her they would be within the walls of his palace before midday. The part of his forest that they had rested in overnight was only a few leagues within the borders of his woodland realm, but the remaining distance would be traveled at a more leisurely pace than yesterday.

"Halatirn went on ahead to my halls during the night," Thranduil told her, referring to another of his Wood-elves, "And he has just returned," he continued. "He has brought some items with him, as I asked him." As he spoke, he reached beside him and lifted a large pouch, with a drawstring top, and handed it to her.

"There is something inside that I believe you will find more suitable to wear today. I know you were upset about your dress last night. Put the gown inside this bag when you change and it will be cleaned for you when we arrive in my halls."

Wondering, Cella opened the pouch and peeked inside. All she could see were folds of what looked like a forest-green fabric. She wondered if it was another Elf-made gown, and hoped it would fit her as well as the first one they had sewn for her did. But how could it have been made so swiftly?

She could not wait to have clean clothes on, but she decided not to reply to the Elfking's words about how she had felt upset about mussing her gown by crying into it, and using it as a handkerchief, the night before. Apparently none of her private thoughts had been denied him, and there had been too many for her to make an inventory now. She would save this task for later, when she could agonize over them at her leisure.

Without hesitation, she allowed herself to be led within the trees where there was a natural screen of hawthorn and bracken for her to change behind. She nearly squealed aloud after she removed the contents of the sack, and found leggings and a short tunic, cleverly made and ornately embroidered, almost too richly made for wearing outdoors, let alone riding on horseback.

She figured that was the reason for the pants she found in the pouch, to allow her the freedom to ride astraddle on Alagos instead of sideways. But she had difficulty bringing herself to put them on before she was sure that was what the Elfking had in mind. They were not made of the usual sueded leather that his Elves usually wore, but from some type of soft fabric with a smooth, dense pile and a plain underside. Was this usual wear for the Ellith of Mirkwood when they rode horses?

"My lord?" she called out.

"Yes, I am here," answered Thranduil, his voice indicating that he was only a few steps away on the other side of the bushes.

"Are you sure these are the clothes that you meant for me to wear? They look very, um, ceremonial and valuable." She ran her fingers over the ornamental embroidered pattern sewn with silver thread that covered the front of the tunic, there were tiny cut glass beads woven within the loops and swirls.

Even here in the shadow of the trees, the needlework and beads shimmered and glistened, and she could just imagine how they would sparkle in the sunlight. The pants had a similar decorative pattern stitched down the outside of each leg. "These are too fine for everyday wearing, Sire. I think you should look at them, first. Please?"

The Elfking stepped through an opening in the bushes and grinned at the tunic she handed to him, holding it up before him at the shoulders, as if it was an Elf he was looking at.

"Yes, I mean for you to wear this. It is time for it to be put to good use again, after being stored away for all this time." For a few moments, he stared thoughtfully at the fancy garment before continuing, "You have a good eye; this was made for a ceremony, a certain ceremony, and worn only once, many years ago." He smiled, remembering. "And they are made for wearing on horse-back, even though they were never truly used for that purpose, not seriously."

"Were these made for an Elleth?" Cella had the leggings in her hands, and the laced up front was a novelty to her, and very impractical for the female anatomy.

Thranduil was still smiling at the tunic but he answered, "No," with no further explanation.

His answers were puzzling, but it was at least clear that the fancy clothes were meant for her to wear, after all. She took the tunic back from him and he left her to dress in private.

Before she could pull the pants over her feet, she had to remove her shoes, but that was the only problem she had with the Elf garments. The leggings were a little long, but she was able to roll up the ends a few turns creating cuffs at the bottom to make them fit properly. She put them on under her dress, leaving the laces untied for the moment, and then it was time to put on the tunic. Before she did, she looked around her, there were no Elves in sight up in the trees, at least that she could see, so she slipped out of the gown.

Beneath her dress she also wore a knee-length shift that Ingarde had given to her. She left it on under the tunic, tucking the silky finery inside the waist of the leggings before tying their laces up securely. The beautifully embroidered long sleeves on the top had to be rolled into a cuff, too. It made her sad to cover up even one thread of the decorative needlework, but she would need her hands today.

Her dress was badly wrinkled from being slept in, and soiled from her crying into it, so she was glad to hide it from sight. After folding it up, she placed it into the pouch the riding clothes had been delivered to her in. The only thing that she did not like about her Elf-made riding suit was how the fabric it was made from was so much thicker than her dress that she knew it would not feel nearly as nice to bump against the Elfking with it on.

She felt very self conscious about the fine clothes and, as she crept back out through the undergrowth, she held the branches of the bushes far from her to keep from snagging a single thread. It felt odd to walk about with pants on her legs. When she came into the clearing, Thranduil was waiting for her and he smiled broadly when she emerged.

He made her turn around so that he could see her from all sides and pronounced the Elf suit a nearly perfect fit. It would only need a bit of tailoring to make it right, he told her as he held one of her arms up to examine the rolled up sleeves. It felt delightful to have his attention and she could not wait to get back on his horse with him.

"Halatirn has brought one more item for you to try on," he said while gesturing to the trees. Alagos was led out into the clearing by the Wood-elf along with a smaller horse at his other side. Thranduil held his hand out to the second horse, a filly, and she came over to him obediently. Her shiny coat was a deep bay color and she had black stockings on her dainty legs. "Today you can show me how well you can ride," he said. "As you said you were able to do."

As she reached out to stroke the lovely animal, Cella was torn. She was keenly disappointed at finding out she would not be riding with the King, but excited at having her own mount instead. "This is Hwiniel," twirling maiden, he said.

"Will she hold still for me, Sire?" The name indicated otherwise, but the pretty horse seemed calm enough. The Elfking told her that when Hwiniel was a foal, she loved to run in circles around the other horses in the pasture, but had since learned to run in a straight line, and quite swiftly when she was asked.

"She will not throw you, or let you fall," he promised.

Cella fell in love with her mount at first sight and complimented the horse on her long eyelashes and beautifully braided mane. She was grateful to see that even though there was no saddle, the filly wore makeshift reins attached to a simple headstall with two leather bands, one that crossed over her forehead and the other over her nose.

Alagos shook his head and snorted, as if he was jealous of all of the attention being paid to the smaller horse while he was left ignored. Cella laughed, and patted his nose, while the King attached the saddlebags to his steed. Then he helped her onto Hwiniel's back and handed her the reins, made of slender rope. He took a moment to show her how to guide the horse using the headstall, which did not work the same as a mouth bit, and had them walk around the glade for a few turns before he was satisfied.

For a long while she had to ride behind Thranduil after they entered the deep forest and traveled through the thick trees along a narrow trail. She still saw no wildlife as they rode, but she could hear squirrels chattering in the branches overhead, and thought she caught the briefest glimpse of a black furry tail. But mostly all she could see was deep green shade and darker green shadows.

It had been many years since she had ridden such a young and sprightly horse, but Hwiniel was easy to stay on, and seemed to sense Cella's initial sense of awkwardness on her unfamiliar perch, and made adjustments accordingly. If Cella started to slip too far in one direction, the horse would tip her gently in the opposite way. After they had ridden together up and down a few steep places without incident, although very slowly and carefully, they both relaxed when the path smoothed out and went straighter.

She asked Thranduil if they were going to see any giant spiders along the way. Although she was curious to see one if possible, she was not exactly sure she was ready. He assured her that any spiders left alive in his realm had been driven far from this part of his forest, and she was not likely to ever see one.

Although Cella thought they would have more sunlight to ride in when they finally reached the main road, she was not very surprised to find that the trees of the dense forest on either side of it made a tunnel with their branches. And only occasionally did a slender beam of sunlight find an opening in the roof over their heads and send a slender brilliant ray down to briefly dazzle her eyes, which had grown accustomed to the gloom.

But now that they were off the slender path, she could ride beside the Elfking, instead of behind him, and that was much nicer than sunlight for her.

"What about the invisible hobbits?" she asked. "Are there any of them around?" Although she knew her eyes were not even adequate enough to see a visible creature in the Elfking's forest, she hoped that he would somehow be able to sense the presence of any strange animal, visible or not, lurking within his realm.

"Invisible? No, I do not believe so," he answered. "Nor visible ones."

"Did you ever see one, Your Majesty?" She did not know why she had never thought to ask him before about hobbits. The funny sounding rabbity men with furred feet and voracious appetites had intrigued her since she first heard tell about them from Milda and Ingarde. The seneschal's description of the only one he saw was brief and inadequate.

It was a wonder to her how much gentler Alagos was today, compared with his impatience to run the day before. He walked calmly along, without visibly testing his pace, while Thranduil told her the story of the hobbit that had inhabited his halls. Hwiniel was nearly dwarfed beside the mighty steed, but she was just about as much horse as Cella could have handled on a strange road in a strange land. The way the filly's dainty ears twitched, it looked like she was listening to the interesting story too.

As the Elfking told her the tale of Bilbo Baggins and the dwarves, Cella was almost disappointed at first at how ordinary sounding the hobbit creature turned out to be, and not very magical at all. But she did have to giggle at his funny sounding name.

Thranduil corrected Cella's misinformed notions about hobbits being uniformly invisible or having any rabbit or dwarf blood, but he confirmed their large fur-covered feet. And very healthy appetites. He referred to the one he met as a 'perian' halfling. Only one of them had ever come over the Misty Mountains, from their country called Shire, and into the wilderness of the great forest, and it was not likely that any other would ever follow him. It had not been an enjoyable experience for little Bilbo.

Cella grew more interested when she learned that Thranduil actually knew Bilbo very well, and deemed him to be a cunning, well-spoken, and very brave halfling. She thought she detected the slightest note of bitterness in the monarch's voice as he related the escape the imprisoned dwarves had made from his dungeons with the hobbit's help. But during that time, no Elf in the halls was aware of the furry footed burglar in their midst.

And then the tale became exciting as Thranduil related how the shrewd and crafty halfling had helped the Elves during the Battle of the Five Armies, and had been crucial in the slaying of the mighty dragon, Smaug. No other creature in Esgaroth had ever been as near to that mighty fire-breathing monster as Bilbo had, and lived to tell about it.

It was hard to tell how much time passed by while they rode and Cella listened to the full tale of the terrible battle at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. Images of warring Elves, men, dwarves, trolls, goblins, eagles, and one brave little hobbit, swam in her head and she wondered how they kept every one sorted out during the fierce fighting. And the story of the desperate Laketown people, after their homes were burnt to the ground during the wicked dragon's last fiery rage, tugged at her heart.

The modest Elfking left himself out of both tales, except to recount his dealings with the hobbit and the fabled Arkenstone. But Cella had already learned from Thaladir how, before proceeding to Dale in pursuit of the dwarves who had escaped his halls, His Majesty had insisted on helping the homeless people find shelter and food.

The seneschal had thought it a most gracious act for a most ungracious populace, but she did not repeat this sentiment to Thranduil as they rode along. It made her sad, too, to think of how much the Elves had done for the Laketown people at one time, only to be treated with such disrespect these days.

Although the road to the Elfking's halls was straight, it was not flat, and it took them up small hills and down the other side, but always the tunnel of trees keep them in shade, so it was not possible for Cella to tell the time of day by the location of the sun. Her stomach began to tell her that it was getting close to lunch time, but the road kept unwinding ahead of them, and there were no great gates in sight. The Elfking's voice fell silent and he slowed Alagos down to almost a complete standstill, to Cella's bewilderment. And then she heard something like laughter. The merry sound was coming from a tree next to the road, high in the branches. She saw nothing.

"What have you brought home with you, ada?" the laughing voice said. Cella heard leaves rustle, but still saw no one. It had to be an Elf, and his pleasant sounding voice seemed to be closer to the ground the next time it spoke aloud, "Have you caught a wood sprite in the forest? She is all dressed in green like one."

"It is rude to speak to a lady when she can not see you, my son," replied the Elfking to the tree. "Please come out and introduce yourself." He turned and smiled at her as he added, "I think she will not faint at the sight of you."

t b c


	27. Chapter 27?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 27/?

"Suilad." Hello.

Cella was startled by the nearness of the invisible Elf's voice and nearly toppled from her horse when she looked up and saw him, almost close enough to touch, sitting on a branch of the tree nearest her. He had not been there when she had glanced over at the Elfking; and before that, she had only heard his disembodied voice laughing and talking to them while the rest of him was hidden from view. Almost by magic he had appeared, and the King had been right; she did not faint at the sight. She was dumbstruck instead.

After a moment of silence, interrupted only by birdsong, he asked her, "Pedich i lam edhellen?" Do you speak Elvish?

Shyly, she nodded yes to his question. If she had not already been told he was Thranduil's son, she would have guessed it immediately. They were remarkably similar in appearance, at least compared with all of the Wood-elves at the vineyard, who were the only other Elves she was familiar with.

At the same time, he also reminded her of the Elves she had seen when she was an adolescent, at the wine festival by the inland sea, more than any of the others she had met so far. He was dressed in the same type of buttery-tan tunic and leggings that she had admired back then. She wondered if he had been one of those she had seen all those years ago, and if he would remember her if he had been there.

"Speak Westron to our guest, Legolas," said the King. "This is Celiel." He turned to her and gestured at the younger Elf, saying, "And this is my son, Legolas."

The handsome younger version of the Elfking swung down from his perch and landed deftly right beside her. She could see that he was tall, like his father. He took her proffered hand and pressed his lips to it briefly, while smiling so winningly at her that she was charmed immediately.

This Elf had the same brilliant golden hair, bright eyes, and the noticeable light that seemed to hover over them, as did Thranduil. Even in the brightest daylight the Elfking had a shimmer about him, and this was even more noticeable in his shadowy forest.

However, she could see that this son of his had not suffered all the same long years of warring against the darkness as the older Elf had, although she could not have said exactly how she could tell. Only that his winsome smile and soft-spoken manner were a sharp contrast to the often grim and purposeful demeanor of the Elfking. His voice was milder, too, with an undertone of merriment.

"And what kind of wood sprite are you? One that recently stood in a shower of stars, I see," he said, referring to the sparkling silver-threaded embroidery on her borrowed tunic.

She could think of no answer for him, she was still speechless, but would not have had a chance to reply before he frowned and spoke again. "Hold on a moment," he peered intently at the riding suit. "I think I recognize this." He leaned forward and touched the sleeve of her garment, briefly. "Yes, I do... I always wondered what happened to this."

"It's yours, isn't it?" Cella asked.

"Ah, you do speak!" he exclaimed. "It was mine, once," he continued amiably. "But I was much smaller then, and I have to say that it looks much better on you now." Cella could not imagine the tall Elf being any shorter than he was, but was glad he did not demand his beautiful garments back immediately, or show any distress over her borrowing them.

But mostly, she was trying to absorb a fact that she had blithely overlooked in all of her wildest imaginings of what life would be like within the halls of Mirkwood. The possible presence of an Elfqueen. She had been blissfully unaware of Thranduil's son up until now; what else was she going to find out?

And this must be the Elf child that he had referred to the night before, who had wanted to know how mortals slept. She wondered if the Elfking had been any more forthcoming with his answer to his son about human sleeping habits than he had been with her about Elves. But she had no time to dwell on her worries and speculations as the Elfprince chatted with her.

"I hated wearing that outfit," he told her, "I felt smothered in it all day, as I recall, but there was also this huge heavy cape that went over the top of everything." At the word 'huge' he described with his arms outstretched something indicating the size of a monster about to devour him.

"It really is quite glorious to see those clothes on someone else," he continued. "Now that I am not the one who is being suffocated by them." Cella had to giggle at him, and she knew he was teasing her. She felt very comfortable, in the riding suit, and not smothered at all. Only she felt she was more on display than she would have liked.

As he spoke, he had moved around Hwiniel and, with the natural grace that all Elves seem to be born with, he leapt up and placed himself right behind Thranduil on Alagos's rump, but facing backwards. He appeared to have been sitting on the wide backside for days, with one knee bent up and his arm around it, reminiscent of his father's position last night. It was such an unusual sight that she nearly choked, not sure if she should laugh out loud at the acrobatics or quietly admire what was most likely a natural position for such a playful, cat-like creature to take.

"She looks a hungry wood-sprite to me, ada," Legolas said, and then with a serious tone. "I think we should take her home and feed her."

At his son's observation about Cella looking hungry, the Elfking remarked dryly that after being on horseback all that day, it was no wonder that she was ready for sustenance. And the sooner they got her into the palace, the sooner she would be well fed. It seemed meant as a hint for the younger Elf to remove himself from the horse so they could proceed.

"Wait a moment, then," said Legolas. "I will come along home with you." With that, he was back up into the tree, where he recovered a bow and a quiver filled with arrows, which were now slung on his back, and then he swiftly resumed his place on Alagos. He again sat back to back with the Elfking, who prompted his horse forward, and continued to converse with Cella as she followed along.

"Poor you," he said. "Having to ride all day with my father, were you desperately bored?" At that sentiment, Cella finally found it easy to answer.

"Not at all!" she protested. "I am never bored when I am with your father." After hearing her answer, the Prince glanced sideways over his shoulder at Thranduil and then leaned over and peered at him closely, as if he was seeing him for the first time. The Elfking turned and scowled at his son. Legolas was undaunted and turned to smile back brightly at Cella.

"Are you from the Laketown, Celiel? I have not been there in many years, except to visit the vineyard." He spoke over his shoulder to his father in an aside, "I do hope your wine is better tasting this year, ada." Cella had to laugh at the sour face he pulled as he asked, and she agreed with him but did not think it would be proper to say anything out loud, and thereby indirectly criticize the Elfking's less than successful wine-making operations in the past.

"I have good news for you, then," Thranduil said to his son in reply. "Do you know who you are talking to?"

"I was quite sure she must be a wood-sprite when I first saw her, but now I am not so sure anymore. Is she a princess in disguise?"

"Far better," said Thranduil. "This young lady dressed in all your princely finery is the niece of Dwain, the Dorwinion vintner." To Cella's delight, the Elfprince seemed to brighten visibly at hearing her uncle's name.

His father continued after a slight pause, as if he was answering an unspoken question, "Yes. He arrived at the vineyard the day before we harvested the crop, and has uncanny skills with the grape that have possibly saved your tongue from tasting vinegar this winter."

"By the Valar!" exclaimed Legolas, impressed. "Why did you not say so immediately? Such princely finery is dull indeed for a lady with such a rich and worthy heritage. You should be riding in a carriage with maids to wait upon you."

As his father filled him in on the rest of the story, Cella had no delusions about the younger Elf's assessment of her. She knew she was merely momentarily basking in the glory of her uncle's reputation, but it did make her feel more secure knowing her uncle's name and reputation were well-known to the Elfprince. And she was glad not to be in a stuffy carriage.

Legolas also heartily approved of the promotion her uncle had received to the royal court, but was nearly delirious with joy when told about the wine barrels that would be delivered here soon. She hoped all of the Elves in the halls were as happy to meet the niece of the wine-maker Dwain as this one. For some reason, neither the fire nor her uncle's injuries were brought into the conversation. She was glad not to have to dwell on any of it, or answer any questions that might arise.

As they traveled along, Cella noticed that the forest had begun to thin out noticeably on both sides of the road, and they no longer were surrounded by the unrelenting gloom of constant shade. And these trees seemed to be younger, and more healthy and vigorous, than the ones in the clearing they had camped at the night before.

There was not as much underbrush anymore and the forest floor looked more park-like than a wilderness. Larger and larger pools of sunlight on the road before them, and among the trees beside them, replaced the rare stabbing rays that had to find the occasional hole in the roof of thickly grown branches that they had ridden beneath for most of the day. The tiny silver threads and glass beads of her tunic sparkled and flashed as they rode through the sunny spots. This was not a dull garment by any standard.

She had not even realized how oppressive the thick forest had been until they finally rode out of it; sharing time with Thranduil had so completely distracted her that she had paid little attention to the affect their surroundings had on her. Already happy, her spirits felt lifted even higher, and she delighted in the feel of the sunlight and the sight of the colorful foliage.

They had been climbing steadily for some time up a gentle slope before the road leveled out. Cella gasped at the sight before them. At the end of the ribbon of road, no longer covered in a canopy of trees, but still at some distance away, and built into the side of a hill, stood the great gates of Mirkwood. There was a slender bridge that led across a river to the entrance and all around them in the woodland; she could hear a murmur of voices, music, and laughter.

The horses picked up their pace now, and neither Cella nor Thranduil held them back. No doubt, they were eager to get into their familiar stalls within the Elfking's royal stable, and they knew they were close. Legolas made her chuckle by letting out a whoop and pretending to almost fall off Alagos's bouncing backside. And then she laughed aloud as he clowned by exaggerating the effect that the motion of the quicker step was having on him by making his arms and legs flop about loosely in time to the quick-stepping trot.

On either side of the road the forest lost its wild look altogether. Each individual tree looked to have been strategically planted at a certain distance apart from the others. Cella turned her head from side to side trying to decide if she just imagined she was seeing what could only be described as an orchard. Except these were not fruit trees.

There were little huts in some of the clearings between the trees, but they looked nothing like any house she was familiar with. The most noticeable difference was a lack of fences in front of each one. Instead, the tiny structures seemed meant to be a part of the forest itself, some were covered in vines or ivy, and were placed to make as little intrusion into the surrounding landscape as possible.

All around the huts, wildflowers grew as they would, and not in some formally arranged pattern in front of the doors. Elves came out of the doors, and to her surprise, many more dropped or climbed down from the trees, to greet them. Cella glanced up into the branches and saw friendly Elf faces looking back at her.

The Wood-elves were happy their King was coming home. Now she noticed many of them dressed in the same quiet forest colors, like Legolas, that she remembered from her first encounter with them at the wine festival. And, to her surprise, she saw that many of the Ellith were dressed in tunics and leggings, too.

They greeted His Majesty with calls of, "Mae govannen, a aran veleg!" Well met, o dear king! as he rode by them. Their quick curious glances swept over her, but no one seemed upset to see her, or unhappy or even very surprised. More than a few smiled into her eyes, and held up their hands in a simple friendly gesture of greeting. She was humbled and excited simultaneously, to finally be where she had long yearned to be, and to be welcomed.

It was not until the quick horse hooves began to clip-clop over the wooden bridge that Cella woke up from the lovely feeling of being at home among the Fair Folk as she was gripped with a pang of anxiety. It was not the massive size of the gates that made her feel nervous, although the overwhelming sensation of stepping into another Age of the world swept over her. The mansion the King had built at the vineyard was the largest structure she had ever seen in her life, until now. However, there was something else that nagged at her attention as they entered the heart of Thranduil's realm.

And there were even more huts and various types of structures on the other side of the bridge, which were built closely together, on either side of the great gates. Some were clinging to the sides of the hills as well. Elves boiled out of them and filled the area in front of a wide stone stairway that led up to the massive gated entrance to the Elfking's halls.

Who among these graceful Ellith, with their beautiful faces upturned to their beloved King, was the mother of his handsome son? Which would come forward to claim his arm and be led up those stairs into their home? She tried not to stare at any of the most likely ones she saw, but it was hard not to wonder. None seemed to have a proprietary look in their eyes, which made her feel a bit more comfortable, but not much.

And then the great gates opened, almost noiselessly, and even more Elves and Ellith came out. These must be the palace Elves, she realized, as they were dressed very differently from the Wood-elves, in much finer garments that would have been impractical for moving about the forest, and they were uniformly taller. She was reminded of the robed Elf, Thaladir, when this group solemnly came down the stone steps to greet their monarch.

The King's seneschal's history lesson had included a brief overview about the migration of the Sindar Elves from the west and over the Misty Mountains. Some of these Elves were led across the Anduin River by Thranduil's father, Oropher. He had been the first great Elfking of the woodland realm.

Oropher had brought many of his own kin into the Great Greenwood with him; these lordly Elves who stood silently at the bottom of the stairway must be some of them. According to Thaladir's tale, there were many who had not survived the war against the Dark Lord and his armies on the battle plain of Dagorland, where their Elfking Oropher had fallen.

Thranduil finally halted Alagos under the shadow of the hill and Cella brought Hwiniel up right beside them. Helpful, smiling Wood-elves were at their sides instantly, to tend to their horses. It was all Cella could do to keep her eyes on the Ellith that were coming down the stone stairway to greet the Elfking, along with the ones that were already in the crowd surrounding their horses, and now her attention was being diverted by the Elves that were holding their hands out to take Hwiniel's makeshift reins from her.

She felt a bit dizzy but, at the same time, eager to see inside the underground realm. So far, none of the Ellith who came out of the halls seemed to be claiming Thranduil's undivided attention. But maybe it was more proper for an Elfqueen to wait inside to greet her beloved husband back into their home. She pictured an Elleth seated on a throne somewhere within, and hoped against hope that she was wrong.

Although the Elfking had called a halt a few times during the day, and bidden Cella to get off Hwiniel to stretch her legs, she did not think of how riding on horseback for so many hours would affect them now. She was too worried about who would appear next out of the massive gates to think about herself. Absentmindedly, she handed Hwiniel's reins to the closest hands stretched out to take them, and brought one knee up over her other to dismount.

"Celiel!" Thranduil's sharp voice stopped her abruptly from sliding off of Hwiniel's back, as she had started to do. But it was Legolas who was at her side to help her down. Gratefully, she grabbed and then clung to his forearms when her legs nearly gave out from beneath her. Whether due to her overall nervousness, or from being stretched over the back of the horse for hours, they refused to hold her up steadily for a few trembling moments.

"Are you going to fall over if I let go of you?" The Prince asked quietly. Even though she knew her face was reddened from embarrassment over her suddenly weak knees, Cella had to smile. She was the one who would have to let go of him, but she appreciated his polite way of asking her to do so.

"I don't think so, let me try," she answered as she released his arms. He still held a hand out to steady her, but she was no longer in danger of collapse. "I'm fine, thank you for helping me, my lord."

"My lord? Celiel, please, just call me Legolas," he chuckled. "Save the titles for my father."

"Le hannon, then, Legolas," she replied. "I am very happy to have met you today." As if her uncle were next to her, poking at her, she recalled the first Elvish words he had taught her to say, in case she ever encountered an Elf unexpectedly, as she always wished she would when she was younger. She had never spoken them to any Elf yet, and only hoped she was pronouncing the words properly as she did, "Gîl síla erin lû e-govaded vín." A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.

"Oh ho!" exclaimed the startled Elfprince. "Not only do you understand our language, but you can speak it, too? You are a true Elf-friend, then. Mae govannen."

Her legs still felt shaky, and as if she could not bring them together to close all the way. But that was to be expected, and she knew it was only a temporary sensation. At least Hwiniel was not as wide-backed as the horses that used to leave her bow-legged back home, after the first pleasure ride of a new spring season. And then Thranduil was beside her, and his hand was on her elbow, and they approached the stairs together.

Cella's heart pounded as he introduced her to the Elves and Ellith who appeared to be carefully arranged before them in a well-practiced courtly display. Among the introductions, there were Elf-lords, advisors, administrators, and a treasurer, but no Elfqueen was mentioned in the blur of titles.

One Elleth in particular peered at Cella intently while she politely welcomed her, and then continued afterwards to regard her with more interest than the others. But she did not leap forward to embrace Thranduil, which was a relief.

The court Elves were pleasant and respectful in their greetings and responses, and were almost equally impressed by her uncle's name as Legolas had been, although not quite as boisterously. As they all climbed back up the stairs, her aching legs protested every inch of the way, but she kept her chin up and pretended not to notice. The Elleth that had stared at her caught up to Cella, and then stayed beside her the rest of the way. But she did not say anything, only smiled over at her serenely.

Once inside the cavernous inner courtyard of the Elfking's magnificent halls, Cella stopped worrying about the Elleth, the possible Elfqueen, or anything else, as she stared about her in awe. She had been in many caves in her life, and some were actually quite beautiful, or so she had thought. But never had she been inside of one that was carved out of living rock, and the difference was astonishing.

The surfaces of the walls and pillars were all polished until they shone like glass. Massive torches were set into carved-out holders, and the gleaming stone reflected their light in such a way that made the interior seem almost as bright as day, but with a reddish hue. The floor was polished too and mirrored everything back, and seemed to stretch for acres in a semicircle.

There were massive fluted pillars here and there that stretched nearly out of sight overhead and gigantic arched doorways that led into enormous halls. And along the farthest wall there were dozens of corridors leading off in every direction. Some had stairs leading up, some went straight ahead, and others must have led down to other floors equally as grand beneath them.

Cella knew that there were cellars many levels below the King's palace. And a river. But she did not know there were upper stories in what she had assumed was a normal cave that had been dug into the side of a hill. The Elfking led her with his hand on her back now, and they went straight ahead to another staircase, an even longer one than that leading up to his gate outside. She barely noticed any discomfort in her legs anymore as they climbed up, however. The quiet, smiling Elleth stayed beside her, but even her presence did not distract her.

Veins of different precious or semi-precious stone and glittering ores had been revealed in the surface of the walls, but were otherwise left untouched by whoever had carved here, and the streaks of them glimmered in the torchlight and dazzled the eyes, at least her eyes, as it was obvious that the Elves were used to their home and all of its marvelous features.

Did they not even notice anymore? Cella did not think she could ever grow tired of admiring the beautiful jeweled walls, but then she would never live more than a century, so it was never going to be possible for her to know if she would grow bored with such beauty or not after living with it for thousands of years.

They reached the top of the stair, and moved through another giant archway, where silent spear-holding Elves stood at the entrance. Huge tapestries were hung on the short, but wide, corridor's walls, and soft rugs muffled the already nearly silent footsteps of the Elves who followed behind their monarch. Cella felt as if she and the King were leading a troop of wraiths. When they came out into another hall with shorter, but just as beautifully carved, pillars that pretended to hold up the great rocky roof, the procession came to a halt.

"Here we will part for a time, firiel," Thranduil said to her. "Lothriel will take you to your room, and," he lifted his chin and spoke to the silent Elleth who hovered at Cella's side, "I think a bath is in order, to help your stiff muscles." With that said, he nodded to the two of them, and turned away to join a small group of Elves who were standing by, apparently waiting for him all this time, in the center of the hall.

"Come this way, please," said the hitherto mute but still smiling Lothriel, and her voice reminded Cella of Lanthiriel's; it was very gentle and kind. But, to her relief, this Elleth spoke the Common tongue more fluently than any of the vineyard Ellith did. "We were told to expect you at mid-day," she continued. "And there is a meal made ready. Would you prefer to eat first, or bathe?"

It took Cella a moment to adjust to having a friend and not a foe beside her, and an offer of a meal, and the prospect of hot water to soak her aching legs in, but she was quickly getting used to feeling wonderful.

t b c


	28. Chapter 28?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 28

As Cella was introduced to her new life among the Elves, she did not lose her sense of wonder for a long time. The grand interior of the Elfking's halls had been a surprise. And as she traveled deeper within them, her surroundings continuously provided an otherworldly sensation that was unrelieved by anything familiar to her mortal senses. And she was constantly nagged with inner questions that she was too shy to ask her Elleth guide, Lothriel.

Her history lessons from Thaladir had not covered the method of the construction of the halls; she was only told that they were built after the Dark Lord had entered Dol Guldur. His evil influence had driven the southern Wood-elves to eventually cross over the northern mountains of the Great Greenwood, where they settled here between the two rivers.

The overall scale and scope of the initial building of this underground realm was nearly beyond the reach of her imagination. It made her dizzy just thinking of how many hands were employed, how much stone was carved into and removed, and how much time it must have taken to make it as perfect as it appeared.

Once they had climbed the long stairs and entered through the last corridor into the great hall, where the Elfking had parted ways with her, she could tell that Elves had more influence here than below. And even her untrained eye and unlearned mind could tell there was a difference in the manner of architecture in these upper areas of the caves. Where before the lines of the pillars and arches were simple and symmetrical almost to the point of severity, here the shapes were softened and curved.

Below, the polished walls were otherwise left unadorned so that the beauty of the stone and its variety of colors stood out, but up here, more often that not, the walls, arches, and pillars were embellished with delicate carvings or covered in banners and tapestries.

Lothriel explained that they were now in Thranduil's palace, which was only one part of his underground realm. This was one of the first areas to be completed, and the Elves were always making improvements to the royal surroundings, in loving service to their monarch. Even after all these centuries, the caves of the Elfking were a work in progress.

As Cella was led through many torch-lit passages, and up and down short flights of stairs, she felt more and more like she was back in the Elves' living area in the vineyard mansion. The walls here were clad in polished wood, the floors covered by carpets, and there were tapestries hanging everywhere. The biggest difference was the lack of windows, but the halls were not gloomy or dark.

Every surface that was capable of reflection had been polished to a mirror-like finish. And the burning torches made no smoke, or smell. The fabric of the wall hangings had glittering threads woven within them, and their jewel-toned colors seemed to glow and give life to the scenes they depicted. Cella's fingers itched to reach out and touch them.

There were niches carved into the walls of the passages that were strategically placed along the way. These either contained vases with autumn foliage, or green growing plants that sweetened the air. Every few steps Cella took revealed something new and beautiful to be amazed by.

But when Lothriel opened the door to what Cella assumed would be a modest guest room, she balked at the door, startled into stillness. Instead of a simple room with a bed, and possibly a table with chairs, she was led into another enormous hall that was large enough to have contained the home she and her uncle shared at the vineyard. And as richly decorated as if it were meant for a member of royalty.

"This is my room?" Cella's voice echoed and startled her. It was not a sense of unease that gripped her, or fear. Reality had yet to meet expectation once she had crossed the bridge into the Elfking's world, and every thing she saw was a marvel. But this was beyond a dream, the first glance of her chambers. This was not a room meant for a mere human to inhabit, if it could be called a room. This was a arrangement meant for the high-born, for the worthy and deserving, and not the small and common such as her. The air felt chilly and she hugged herself as she followed the Elleth.

Although Lothriel assured Cella that her chambers were no more unusual in their size and appearance from most other guest suites in the halls, she still felt overwhelmed by the grandeur of what was mere ordinary existence to the Elves.

The floors were not carpeted in this main room, which Lothriel referred to as a reception area, and it had round pillars in the center and stone benches along two walls, but no other furniture. There were potted yew plants in the corners of the room and the air was filled with their green fragrance. There were doors against a far wall that Cella assumed led to other rooms.

To Cella's ears, her footsteps echoed loudly around her as she walked around staring, even Lothriel's quieter feet behind her were audible. She was so overwhelmed by the size and scale of the palatial accommodations that she was almost afraid to speak again, for fear her voice would bounce around the pillars several times before stopping. Her hands and nose felt as cold as if she was outdoors on a cloudy day and she was glad she had the thick leggings on.

There was an enormous fireplace that took up one wall with a merrily burning blaze within it. It must have only recently been lit, and was doing its best to warm up the cavernous area, but its effect was barely noticeable. As she expected, the doors led to other rooms and Cella followed behind the Elleth as she took her through them. There was a large sitting room, a formal dining room, and a bedroom that took her breath away.

It had not only a bed and a table, but there was a couch, chairs, and a desk, and, most marvelous of all to her, another fireplace, but this one was making a difference in the temperature and she began to feel more comfortable almost at once. And there was a carpet again, which cushioned her footsteps so that they did not make any noise as she crossed the floor.

As soon as Lothriel closed the door behind them, and shut out the echoing pillared chamber, Cella felt much better. This room was smaller than all of the others so far, and it felt much warmer and cozier.

"The Elfking treats his guests very regally, I see," breathed Cella as she sat on the couch and stared at her surroundings, dazed by the spaciousness and luxury of the Elfking's caves. There was a knock at the door, and Lothriel opened it and greeted Elves bearing covered but delicious smelling trays. They entered silently and spread their burden on the table by the fireplace. Cella was grateful that she did not have to eat in the larger dining room.

The amount she was served seemed more fitting for a large family and she hoped she could convince the Elves to not waste so much food on her after this one time. Perhaps they thought she was a hobbit? There were plates and platters and bowls filled with savory concoctions both hot and cold. Besides them there were loaves of bread and small mountains of butter and a large pot of honey to smear over the top of it all. And a small jug of wine.

The sight of all the food she was expected to eat nearly took her appetite away, but once she tasted the delicious fare, she was able to make a noticeable dent in the piles. She asked for tea instead of wine, and was swiftly served a pot with ceramic cups, which were a novelty for her. But then everything she saw, felt, and used was a novelty so far.

Lothriel would not sit and eat with her, but she stayed in the room and kept her company. It was a bit unnerving at first, as the Elleth hovered about silently. And after the interruption by the tray-bearing Elves, it felt as if they had to start over again with feeling comfortable together.

But Cella grew used to her presence and finally asked her some more polite questions about life in the halls. She was tempted to inquire about the existence of an Elfqueen, but she did not want the Elleth to think she was overly interested in Thranduil's private life, at least not yet. Cautiously, she asked about her accommodations. She wondered out loud where her uncle would sleep, when he finally arrived, as there only seemed to be the one bedroom.

"Your uncle will have his own private chambers, my lady," replied the Elleth,

"My lady?" Cella repeated back, astonished, and immediately thought of Legolas's words to her earlier, when she had called him 'my lord', and knew now how he felt then. "I am not a la...," she started to say, and then stopped. "Please," she said, after a moment's thought. "Could you call me Cella? I would like that."

"Cella?" The Elleth's normally serene features faltered for a moment. She composed her features quickly, and then asked, "His Majesty said that your name was Celiel, was that not correct?"

"Yes, of course, he is always correct!" cried Cella, then paused a moment and added. "Or he thinks that he is, anyway."

At this reply, Lothriel frowned slightly, but Cella explained further, "What I mean is, Celiel is actually not my real name, either. It isn't my birth name, I should say. But His Majesty knows that, my uncle did tell him."

To her surprise, the Elleth smiled with relief and stated that she did not know that mortals had birth names and then chosen names, which was how Elves named their own children and themselves. She asked why Cella referred to herself as Cella, and not Celiel.

It was not easy to explain that her name was really only a childhood pet name, meant as a joke. Lothriel understood this quite well and told her that nicknames for adult Elves were not unheard of. Sometimes, adult Elves had names chosen for them that were descriptive of some aspect of their character, very similar to what her father had done with her name, 'running daughter'.

In fact, Elves sometimes had several names in a lifetime, and then returned to their birth name after trying on all the rest. According to Lothriel, the father and mother can both give a baby Elf two different names at birth. When they were older, but not yet adult, Elves chose their own name and it was announced during a ceremony to commemorate the occasion.

While they talked, the Elleth had at last accepted an invitation to sit at the table, and share the tea. Cella told her that most mortals were named by their mothers at birth and kept their first name for life. And then she explained how her father's fascination with Elves and their customs led him to playfully give her the elvish sounding name when she was still very little.

"When mortals are children, it is customary to shorten their names, or to give them pet names, and then call them by their whole first names again when they are adults."

"You did not choose your own name as yet?" Lothriel asked. She was politely curious and Cella began to feel more comfortable as they talked about the different customs they either shared or at least understood about each other's given or chosen names. Despite the differences, there were a lot of ways that names were the same no matter who had them, or how they decided on them.

For her part, Cella hoped that she had provided enough information, because she could think of no good reason why the members of her own race did some of the things they did. She could only guess.

"Have you met many mortals?" she asked. Lothriel smiled and told her that she had actually lived with them, once, but she did not volunteer more information.

"We do not often receive guests to the palace," the Elleth added after a moment. "And we have never had a mortal living here with us."

This information stunned Cella almost as much as the grandeur of her chambers and, after she recovered enough, she looked around her again with a new perspective. She was the first human to see these walls, these floors, this ceiling, and everything contained within them. It was a glorious feeling, but she could not shake the thought that she was undeserving of the privileges that came to her only from her relation to the Royal Court Vintner.

And, although Cella felt honored to be the first mortal guest in the Elfking's halls, she wished she had more of them for company. Ingarde and Milda would be overjoyed to see all of this. She missed them and her uncle, now that she was finally settling in. It seemed to her that there were too many good things for her to appreciate by herself, they would be better if shared and it made it harder to absorb the experience all alone. The Elves took it all for granted, or so it appeared to her.

She was informed that the guest rooms were built long ago, in anticipation of visitors from the other Elven realms. However, the long fearful years of oppression during the Dark Lord's inhabitation of Dol Guldur had prevented easy travel into and out of the great forest. Lothriel admitted that she had never yet heard of a mortal having ever asked to be invited into Thranduil's halls, but that did not mean it would never happen.

After her table was cleared, Cella stood and remembered the promise of a soak in hot water to help her aching legs, which had stiffened up painfully while she had sat at her meal. But she did not know if she should ask about it now or just wait. It was so difficult to know what was impolite and what was expected of her in this strange new world she had entered.

A bath in the vineyard meant a bit of work had to be done first to heat the water and fill a tub, which she was willing to do for herself here if she was shown where to go to begin. There were other doors that led to rooms yet to be explored. Maybe Lothriel would leave her alone and she could look in them. Even though these were supposed to be her rooms, she still felt inhibited from relaxing fully while the Elleth stood by.

Wistfully, she wondered if the Elfking would have offered to lay his healing hands on her sore legs if she had not have been so bold with him for the past few days, and wished he would do so anyway. The idea of his touching her again, even if only to help ease the discomfort, sent a wave of heat through her. It persisted no matter how hard she tried to stop thinking about it.

"Would you like to see where the Court Vintner will be staying?" Lothriel's question caught her off-guard, and it took a moment for Cella to realize who she was talking about, but she did very much want to know where Uncle Dwain would be sleeping and she hoped his chambers were as nice, if not nicer, than hers were. The Elleth led her through one of the mysterious doors and the first thing Cella noticed was the sound of pouring water coming from someplace nearby. It gave her an excuse to bring up the bath.

"Where can I wash my face and hands, please?" she asked. Lothriel led her to another door, and when it was opened, Cella gasped. It was a bathing room, not as large as the Elfking's was back at the vineyard, but much more lovingly and cleverly constructed. The bathtub itself was as large as a small pond and was carved right into the stone. It sat in its own little alcove and was illuminated with several small earthen-ware lamps placed in niches or upon small ledges that burned sweet-smelling oil. There were no torches in this room.

Fresh water flowed into the tub continuously, and a slight bitter smell indicated that a hot spring was being used to heat the bath naturally. There were outlets that poured two separate streams of water into the large basin, and another one that carried the used water into a drain in the floor. A mist rose from the swirling surface.

There were stacks of towels, washing cloths, and cakes of soap on shelves carved into the walls. And lined along one edge of the bath were mysterious bottles and jars. The clear glass revealed different colored fluids that interested Cella even more than the prospect of soaking in the unusual bathtub.

As she stepped further into the room, Cella realized that the floor was made of narrow wood planks, and there was enough space between each board to carry any dripped or splashed water away from the surface to prevent slippery puddles.

Cella could not wait to undress and try it all out, but felt shy to do so with someone else in the room. There was a smaller basin, obviously meant for personal washing, sitting on a ledge near the tub. Lothriel filled it using a small jug that she dipped into the bathwater and then stepped away and stood by in her usual silence.

While Cella cleaned her face and hands, she promised herself to come back here first as soon as she could convince the Elleth to leave her alone. They left the marvelous bathing room and went back out into the pillared reception area. The fireplace had finally warmed the large room and it did not seem as cavernous anymore.

They were about to enter through the door that Lothriel said would lead to her uncle's chambers when a familiar voice from behind them made Cella gasp as joy pulsed through her entire body like a shock-wave.

"Are you comfortable in your new home, firiel?" Cella whirled to greet Thranduil while Lothriel automatically dipped into a curtsey.

"Yes, Majesty," she choked out as she tried to imitate the Elleth's graceful dip.

Thranduil smiled warmly and spoke to Lothriel in their own tongue, and too swiftly for Cella to follow. Not that she cared at the moment. He had been transformed since she had last seen him, and she could only gaze at him in awe.

The Elfking's usual dark green tunic and black leggings had been replaced with regal embellished garments more fitting for a monarch in his palace. These were made of the same soft fabric and in the identical forest green hue as her borrowed clothes were. Cella almost giggled when a picture of the two of them standing side by side entered unbidden into her thoughts. And then she thought of a shorter Legolas wearing the matching suit in her stead, and this made a nicer and much more sensible image.

However, Thranduil's tunic was cut differently; it was longer, to his thighs, with shorter sleeves and he wore a linen shirt beneath it. And, although it was embroidered with the same silver threads as hers was, that glimmered in the torchlight, it was not nearly as fanciful. Instead of the ornately fashioned designs her clothing bore, there were only a few slender vines bearing gracefully curved leaves stitched across the front of his tunic and at the edges of his collar and sleeves.

His shining mane of hair had been braided, but just enough to pull some of it away from his noble brow, which was adorned with a circlet of leaves and bright berries. Lothriel murmured something back to the Elfking and Cella could not really hear her over the roaring in her ears. She swung between feeling utterly humbled by his royal visage and demeanor and yet comforted by his familiar presence. He turned to her again.

"There is a lot to take in, Celiel, I know. But you will adjust," he said gently.

She had to wonder if he had read her thoughts, or if her current state of disorientation was written on her face in his sight. Another Elf had joined them as if he had appeared out of nowhere, carrying her gown, which had been cleaned. He handed the garment to Lothriel, after bowing to his monarch, and then left them as silently as he had come in.

At a gesture from the Elfking, Lothriel left them and returned into the bathing chamber. Cella was glad she was alone with the Elfking.

"How do your legs feel now?" Thranduil asked.

"A warm bath will help," she answered, while wishing that she had the courage to ask him to heal them, but she did not want to seem forward.

"Come," he said.

Cella followed him to one of the stone benches, and stood waiting as he sat down. He waved her to stand in front of him, and she shook slightly with anticipation as he positioned her even closer, with his hands on her waist. She did not have to ask him to help her, after all, and she blessed whatever gods there were who might have intervened on her behalf.

Tears of gratitude filled Cella's eyes as his hands moved slowly down over her hips and thighs. She remembered how embarrassed she had felt the first time he had touched her, and healed her, this way, but this time she watched. The odd tingling sensation his touch evoked eased the stiffness and aching from the horse ride almost instantly. By the time he reached her knees, she felt normal again.

She wiped the unshed tears away, and smiled down into his eyes as she thanked him. But she decided not to back away so he could stand up. He would have to move her or ask her to move. Instead, he smiled back at her and patted the bench beside him. She sat, foiled in her plan, but happy enough to be invited to sit with him not to care.

"My subjects," he told her, "are anxious to have a feast to formally welcome you to my palace as our newest resident."

"Your subjects? All of them?" Normally, such a statement would strike terror in her shy heart, but, as Cella imagined those solemn Elves in their regal robes clamoring for a merry feast, she felt amused instead.

It was such an absurd notion that she felt doubtful, but she had no reason to contradict the Elfking's words. If he said it was so, then it must be true. But Thranduil chuckled as if hearing her thoughts, which she was starting to suspect was the case.

"No," he replied, still smiling. "In truth, only one of them, but a very important one, has made this request. However, many have agreed with his proposition." He cocked his head slightly and regarded her before asking, "Do you think you would enjoy attending such an event, or would you prefer to rest here this evening with Lothriel for company?"

It was a hard decision, and one that Cella had never believed she would have even considered at one time in her life. An invitation to any type of gathering would normally have filled her with dread. But she wished to be with these Elves as they feasted, and the prospect made her feel happy, and not afraid. She wondered who the very important Elf was who had made the request.

"Yes, Sire," she said at last. "I think I would like very much to attend a feast in your palace."

"Very good," the Elfking answered as he stood. "You will make my son very happy. He is always trying to think of a reason for a feast."

Legolas, then, was the important Elf. It figured and Cella laughed to think she was an excuse for merrymaking, but she enjoyed knowing she would be making the charming Elfprince happy. And that she would be at a feast with his father as well.

t b c


	29. Chapter 29?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 29

It made Cella a little sad when Thranduil left her, after escorting her back to the bathing chamber, and went off about his business in the palace. Before he bade her farewell, he had advised her to nap after her bath, for his feasts were known to stretch long into the night, and she would need her rest.

And it was difficult to have him near to her, so irresistible and so close that she could reach out and touch him. But she did not have enough courage to do more than smile into his eyes as he stood near her.

It was even more difficult to watch him walk away.

She had a pleasant surprise waiting for her in the bathing chamber that helped soothe her feelings of loneliness. Lothriel had closed the water valves temporarily, so that the water in the tub was no longer filling and emptying itself. Instead the steaming pool was still, and there was a new fragrance in the air.

The Elleth explained that she had added some special oils to treat the water with, which would make a mortal's skin feel softer and healthier after soaking in it for a while, and some special mineral salts had been included to help the aches and stiffness from the horse ride. She was apparently not aware that the Elfking had already taken care of that problem, and Cella did not mention it.

The water had a different color to it now. The salts had made it cloudy and blue-tinged and the surface bore a rainbow-colored iridescent sheen that was highlighted by the glow of the ceramic lamps with their flickering flames. Because the oil would stay on top of the water, Cella's hair was arranged to stay up off her shoulders as she soaked.

Even though the king had healed Cella's aching legs, it still felt marvelous to be wrapped in the silken-textured heated water when she finally got into the tub, after Lothriel discreetly stepped out of the room while she undressed. It was a new habit, to bathe daily, but it had been easy to grow accustomed to at the vineyard.

Even though Cella looked forward to putting on her dress again, she also hoped she would get to keep the fancy riding clothes. Lothriel had asked her to leave them in the bath chamber where they would be retrieved for cleaning. The Elfking had said something about how they would have taken a bit of work to fit her, but she did not know if that was an observation or a promise.

The Elleth left behind a robe for her to wear after her bath, instead of getting dressed again. It hung on a hook and appeared to be made out of the same type of absorbent material that the towels and cloths were.

Lothriel had advised Cella to open the valves again when she was done soaking, to clear out the oil and refresh the warm water. After she had done this, she took her hair down. If she sat at a certain angle, the mixed flow of hot and cold water merged together right over her head and poured over her like a warm waterfall.

The tub was deep and she floated around and swam more than she sat in it. There was a ledge carved out for sitting, and the interior was slanted to assist with the draining system. This made one side deeper than the other. If she slipped off the seat, she could sink almost all the way beneath the surface. The feeling of weightlessness was new for her and she could have stayed in the tub for much longer if her skin would not wrinkle because of it.

Even though the heated water had a slightly odd odor, considering its mineral origins, the perfumed scent of the lamp's oil, along with the various bath additives, made the pungent odor easier to bear. She soon grew used to the smell and did not notice it anymore. It came back into her nostrils with the fresh flow and she had to get used to it all over again, but she considered the temporary discomfort a small price to pay for how it felt.

Finally she picked up a bar of soap and began to wash; the smooth texture of her skin was a surprise. She ran her fingers over her arms and then over her shoulders, which were the only parts within reach and above water. Was her whole body like this now?

After sitting back on the ledge, she could explore more of this marvelous new skin she had, and as she watched her fingers skim over her breasts, she thought about Thranduil's hand there, instead of hers. The nipples stiffened, and she bit her lip and tried to stop thinking about him. But she could not, even after she sank back under the water to her chin, and stopped touching herself at all.

Oh, but how wonderful it would have been if the Elfking was there, in the bath, with her. It was as if she had no will left within her, now that she was within the walls of his palace, to prevent her thoughts from wandering to him, and his presence swam firmly into her mind. Every detail of his handsome face was clear and distinct in her mind, as she had wished it to be the night before. She allowed her thoughts to flow freely now.

What, exactly, would happen if he had been next to her, at this moment, and naked? She groaned as she almost tortured herself by imagining him washing her with his bare hands. However, what such behavior would lead to in the end was mostly a mystery. Not that she was unwilling to find out. At least he might kiss her again.

Would he come to her if she called him here? She knew he would not, but giggled to imagine him engrossed in some important meeting with one of the sober-faced grandly-robed Elves and suddenly seeing her beckoning to him from the bathtub. It was a childish notion, she realized, to think it would be that easy, or that he would actually see her like that, like a picture in his mind.

And furthermore, he would be constantly interrupted in his thoughts if he had to see every idea that everyone had about him as they happened. No, Cella, she chided herself. Do not play with this fire. He would probably consider any message she could manage to send to be as desirable as a buzzing fly about his face. And there was still the matter of the Elfqueen to be considered.

And Cella had no difficulty imagining an amazingly beautiful willowy-figured Elleth seated next to Thranduil in a throne room. If there was a wife for the King here after all, then what she was thinking was worse than playing with fire, it was asking for heartbreak. And for being thought a fool. She could not think anymore about him being married, it was already beginning to hurt.

Quickly then, she washed her hair with a scented soapy liquid from the bottle Lothriel had pointed out to her and rinsed it under the tub's waterfall. From nowhere tears came, as she faced the fact that the king certainly was wed, and happily so, and she was already a fool for coming here with him. She knew she was being silly, no one here knew how she felt about him. And he would never say anything to anyone; she knew that without having to be told.

But once they had started, the tears would not stop, and she actually forgot the possible Elfqueen for a while. She let all the rest of the stifled emotions and pent up grief trapped within her pour out while she was in the safety and privacy of the bathing room. It helped that she was under the cover of the water's steady falling noise, too, which hid her sobs. She felt very alone.

And even though her eyes were closed when she heard Thranduil's voice say her name, "Celiel," she knew he was not in the room with her. It came from deep within her and resonated outwards, and it calmed her immediately. In much the same way his physical presence always did.

He was aware of her sorrow and did not want her to feel sad anymore. Without any further words spoken on his part, she nonetheless felt calmer. All of that had been expressed just in the way he had said her name.

And she replied, out loud, "I am alright now, Sire," knowing that he would hear her. So abruptly did she feel better that she sat puzzled and disoriented for a moment as she tried to recall what she was doing in a tub.

He had meant to comfort her, and had, but it was a little spooky too, when she let the full impact of actually having heard him speaking to her sink in. And then it dawned on her that it was not her desires that had reached him, but her sadness, and her loneliness.

It made Cella feel cared for, that he had reached out to her in that magical way, and she felt more than a little guilty. She assumed that she must have been an interruption to Thranduil's attention, which was better served by being intruded on for emergencies only. And then, before she could even feel much guiltier for that, another wave of reassurance resonated through her, only it was more a sensation than spoken words, like an echo of his voice.

Smiling to herself, Cella yawned with drowsiness, the hot soak and the tears combined had made her feel weary. It was time to get out of the bath and take her nap, she concluded. Although none of her problems were solved, she did not feel as anxious or upset about her future beyond climbing into her new bed. She knew she was not being ignored, or neglected, or abandoned here in some sort of fancy cage.

She forgot why she had started crying and wondered if her eyes and nose were all red and ugly. If Lothriel was waiting for her, she would wonder about it, and maybe talk about her to the other Elves.

Before she climbed out of the wonderful bath, she held her face to the water's cold side in the streams, and let it flow over her eyes to cool them off. The chilly water spilled over her neck and chest, and made her shiver, but it felt refreshing.

The robe was soft, and Cella could tell it was made for an Elleth by the way the sleeves covered her fingertips, but the hem length was good, it only skimmed across the floors. Lothriel was in her bedchamber, waiting for her, and promised she would return to wake her and help her dress for the feast.

And Cella believed she would lie for hours, tossing and turning, as she tried to adjust to sleeping in strange surroundings, while tormenting herself with images of the Elfking and his possible Queen. But she was asleep almost as soon as she put her face on her pillow.

The first thing the Elfprince did, after greeting Cella merrily and stating his intention to escort her to the feast, was to take her by the hand and twirl her around so that her skirt flew in a circle. He pronounced her 'feast-worthy', and congratulated Lothriel on her hairdressing skills after the carefully crafted arrangement on Cella's head stayed in place. It was hard not to feel happy when he was near.

As they walked through the corridors, Legolas announced proudly to her, "I have decided that I was right all along, although I had almost been fooled by your disguise. But I am certain now that I know the truth. You can no longer hide your identity from me." At this odd accusation, Cella could do no more than open her mouth in an effort to profess her innocence, but before any words could form, he kept talking.

"I should have stayed with my first impression, I am happy to say. One should always stick with their first guess, I suppose." Even though his words were slightly ominous, he was so obviously teasing her with them that Cella could only smile and wait to hear what his conclusion of her 'true' identity turned out to be.

"It is obvious to me," he continued, "or to anyone else with two eyes, that you really are a wood-sprite, and your habit of persistently dressing in green only further confirms my suspicions. Do you deny it?" It was not hard at all for Cella to be alone with him, and she had no feeling of shyness when she replied to him.

"The Elves at the vineyard made this dress for me," she said. But she did not add anything about why it was made.

"Ah, that is your story then, is it?" He chuckled and shook his finger at her. "It is no use denying the truth, little wood-sprite. I have just spent the day with ada, who is clearly under an enchantment, completely bewitched, so it is of no further use to pretend otherwise."

"Legolas, I am not pretending anything," Cella replied as politely as she could, although it was difficult not to giggle at his mock stern expression. "Pray tell, what must I do to convince you otherwise?"

"Now we are getting somewhere!" exclaimed Legolas happily. "You will have to admit you have cast a spell on my father."

"What do you mean?" she asked, and suddenly faltered. "Is there something wrong? What has happened to him?" Her thoughts raced. She felt a rush of dizziness at wondering if Thranduil had taken ill. But Legolas would not act so cheerful if that was the case.

Then her stomach sank even more when it occurred to her that somehow, in some way, the business in the bathing chamber may have been broadcast throughout the realm. She stopped smiling and felt weak in her knees as she waited for his response. They had walked through the corridors for what felt like leagues, but now she could hear music, and a murmur of voices ahead. Were they all discussing her, and her bath?

"What has happened to him?" The Elfprince repeated her words back to her as if he was astonished she would say them. He rolled his eyes and then clucked his tongue, "Now, now," he continued. "I am the one asking the questions here, did you forget that?" He tapped the tip of her nose. "I am asking you. Now, what happened to him, explain yourself."

"Me?" Cella sighed with relief, he was only being silly, and she had to learn to tell the difference. The aroma of the meal floated around them now, and the sounds of the Elves at feast grew louder. "But, what have I done?"

"Yes, that too, that too," he agreed. "What have you done?" Now Cella had to laugh, but more with how nonsensical the whole conversation had become. The Elfprince was not put off a bit by her mirth and continued with his interrogation. "More importantly," he asked, "how did you do it? And can you teach me?" His voice had dropped to a mock whisper, as if afraid of being overheard, but he did not seem surprised at all when he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Man anirach istad, ion?" What do you desire to know, son?

The Elfking appeared from nowhere, and was right beside them. As quickly as she could, Cella tried to remember every word that she and Legolas had said as they had walked along.

"Will you give me a moment alone with our guest?" While he spoke to his son, Thranduil offered his elbow to Cella. Legolas nodded and gracefully bowed to them both, and then left them alone. All of a sudden, Cella did feel shy, and a touch embarrassed.

"Your Majesty, I don't know what to say," she murmured, eyes down.

"Do not say anything, then, for it is I who wish to speak to you."

"Yes, My Lord." She felt chastened and a bit fearful of what he was going to say to her.

"You do not have to fear me," he said.

"I know." But, she felt as if she had been hit by a bolt of lightning; he had heard her thought. She did not even have to try. With his finger, Thranduil tipped her chin up so that she had to face him and without meaning to, she spoke again, "I am trying not to fear you, Sire, but it isn't easy." The truth sprang out from her lips as it always did when she looked into his eyes, unbidden and uncensored. He smiled.

"It is not often that we have mortals visit within our halls," he told her as he released her chin. "But, I think it important for you to know something that I have not mentioned." He led her a little distance away from the corridor where the Elfprince had left them, but not so far away that she could not hear the music, and laughter.

"Now that you are within my realm," he said, "and under my roof, none of your thoughts are hidden from me. Nor are you capable of hiding them from me, if I choose to pursue them, even if you wished to do so." He paused, and she absorbed the information. It was not a complete shock, but it was not something she heard every day either.

"I am more than just a king in name, firiel," he continued. "I am my forest, my rivers, and my caves. Along with them I carry every Elf, tree, bird, beast, tree and flower within me. I draw strength from my realm and bestow that energy back into it, like a breath, or a pulse." He stopped walking and they stood facing each other.

As Cella looked into his eyes, she felt as she was looking into a deep well filled with all of the ancient secrets of the world, as yet to be revealed, but there for anyone brave enough to dive in and risk searching. She was stunned into silence. He took her hand into his and held it gently.

"To give vent now and then to feelings, whether of pleasure or discontent, is a great ease to a mortal's heart, this I know. And Elves know sorrow; know grief, pain, loneliness, and so you should not feel ashamed to have those feelings in my home. You are entitled to feel safe here, which is what I have promised both you and your uncle."

As he spoke, Cella's heart lightened with gratitude. She had fully expected a scolding, and not the gentle tone he was taking.

"I have not had much experience with mortals and their emotions," he said. "However, I believe it is true for all of the children of Ilúvatar that suffering disappears only after it is yielded to -- even sorrow. Emotion turning back on itself, and not leading on to some kind of thought or action, is an invitation to madness."

The way Thranduil pronounced the word 'madness' made a shiver run down Cella's spine, as if he had been a victim of it, or perhaps maddened himself by some grief that he could neither think about nor act upon. In either instance, he had suffered.

From deep within her womanly heart came an ache that would only be eased by offering comfort to him, if he had been wounded. But she kept her hands, at least, to herself as she stood quietly. Stubbornly, she continued loving him with all of her heart, hoping that much, at least, could reach within and heal him. His smile brightened, and his eyes twinkled as if was about to laugh.

"And your thoughts are written on your face as ever," he said. "So it is rarely necessary to pursue them much deeper. Furthermore," he continued, as he led her back to the feast, "I am fairly certain that your feelings of loneliness will diminish soon. I have just had word that your uncle's leg is saved, and he and the rest of my subjects, will be headed home on the morrow." At the happy news, Cella could not help but hug his elbow, and briefly lay her cheek on his arm as she thanked him for telling her.

When they entered the large, noisy, Elf-filled hall, Cella was overwhelmed by the sights and sounds inside. The atmosphere of merriment and joy was like a wave that washed over her as the Elfking's subjects welcomed him to his feast with a mighty roar. She nearly flung herself at Legolas when he approached them, so relieved was she to see a familiar face.

"Ada, I am beginning to believe," Legolas said in a scolding tone, "that you are attempting to starve this wood-sprite into submission. The poor thing, look at how hungry she is." Without much effort, Thranduil gave up Cella's arm to his son, who led her to her place of honor and seated himself next to her. Platters of food and bowls of wine were quickly set before them. She wondered if it would be rude to ask for tea to drink.

"I see you have renewed your enchantment," he whispered while nodding towards the Elfking, who stood at a little distance from the table, speaking to an Elf. Cella shook her head, confused and uncertain as to what the Prince was trying to point out to her.

"Why do you say so?" She kept her own voice to a whisper while she asked. "His Majesty appears perfectly normal to me, if that is a proper thing to say about a King."

"It is very proper," Legolas assured her, "But ada is not his normal self." The Prince was looking at his father as he spoke and she followed his eyes back to the Elfking as well, but had to admit that she was mystified.

"He is smiling," explained the Elfprince, as if it was the most unusual thing he had ever seen.

t b c


	30. Chatpter 30?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 30

-- 

Legolas suddenly turned wistful after telling her that to see his father smile was a rare event, and that Thranduil had been smiling, or just about to smile, all that day. It was a clear case of bewitchment, but he said nothing further about it being her doing.

"I have not seen him this lighthearted since, well, let me think, it must have been before the dragon came," he informed her. "Of course, there was that little period of time right after the great battle in Dale when he walked around with a lightened step for a while. Proud of himself then, I must say."

He was no longer whispering, and he had to interrupt himself in order to introduce her to the other Elves who were seating themselves near them at the table. When everyone had sat, she had a question for him.

"Were you at that battle? The Five Armies Battle?"

"You have heard of it?" He looked bemused. "Are you not full of surprises for having lived wild in the woods?"

"Your father's seneschal, Lord Thaladir, has told me some of the history of Mirkwood." She almost laughed at the face he pulled at the mention of the tall robed Elf.

"Lord?" He sounded dubious at the title. "Lord Thaladir? Is that what he calls himself when he is giving his long-winded history lectures these days? I suppose he made you sit up straight and not squirm in your seat while he was at it?" Now she did laugh as Legolas imitated an obedient pupil with perfect posture and hands folded.

"The other women at the vineyard call him Lord Thaladir, out of respect, I think," she explained. "And he was very interesting to listen to. At least the stories about the spiders and the wargs were exciting, I thought. And the famous battle in Dale, too."

"Ah, exciting, it was that. Yes, I was there, and it was a frightening affair, fraught with peril," he replied proudly. "But I must confess it was at first more unnerving to be away from the familiar gloom of the trees, than it was to later face the whole goblin army." His statement reminded her of the tale of the wary Wood-elves at the vineyard, who did not like the lack of trees either.

"But I grew used to the wide sky, the treeless fields, and the shimmer of starlight on the grassy meadows," he continued and then spoke more to himself, than to her. "And I asked if we could build a home near the shore of the Long Lake, to visit in the summer."

"Is that is why your father built that mansion at the vineyard?" she asked. "For you to visit during the summer?" Legolas chortled at the thought.

"Do you know what? I had never thought of it." He looked at her with a new respect. "After all these years...," he grinned. "It is possible that you are on to something." She was happy to have such a willing and knowledgeable table partner, and she took full advantage of her good fortune.

"Was that when you wore your fancy riding suit? When you were in the battle?"

"Oh no, I was much younger when I wore that, and that was long, long ago. I was much too young for battling trolls and goblins, although I would probably have begged to be allowed." He smiled, remembering, and added, "No, that was a happy day, the day I wore that costume, after a series of dark and bitter ones."

But, whatever the occasion had been, he could not continue telling her about it, for Thranduil had finally come and stood at his place, a few seats away from where she sat with Legolas. The hall grew quiet as the Elfking raised his drinking bowl. He turned toward Cella and spoke to her.

"This is my home..," he paused to wave his bowl in a wide all-encompassing sweep of his arm, and then proceeded. "It is my retreat from the world, and that of my subjects in time of war, and a resting place from wars in between. I strive most of all to keep this corner of the world as a haven against the tempests outside, for my people and for myself." Although he was still addressing her, he directed his next remarks to the hall.

"Baren bar lin si, firiel. Le hannon a tholed. Si, mado a sogo uin mereth!" -My home is your home now, mortal maid. Thank you for coming here. Now, eat and drink of the feast!- 

At the last words of his toast, all of the Elves in the hall let out a cheer and Cella sipped from her wine bowl politely as they drank to welcome her. The Elfprince leaned over to her and whispered again.

"I am glad you came; I think we need your enchantment." But after that, he did not say another word to Cella about it at the table. She was asked polite questions by the other Elves, the ones who were able to speak Westron. They wanted to know about her uncle, and her home by the inland sea.

The food, as she expected, was delicious, but she could barely drink the wine. It was not from the previous, unsuccessful, efforts of the Elfking's vineyard, it was better tasting than that at least. But it was still wine. She left it untouched and whether Thranduil noticed this or read her mind about it, she never knew. But tea was brought for her, and she thanked him silently, and hoped that he heard.

The music she had noticed while outside in the corridor was being played by a group of Elves not unlike the ones who had performed at the Harvest Feast back at the vineyard. They had a larger stage to play on, at the back of the hall instead of in the center of the floor. Even though they were not close, their instruments could be heard above the din of the dining.

Throughout the meal, the musicians continued playing in a lighthearted fashion. And just like at the vineyard, after dessert was served, the music became louder and even jollier, and the mood in the hall changed with it. Whoops of delight rang out through the hall as the crowd of Elves in the middle rose and moved their tables to make a place for dancing in the center of the floor.

It was Legolas who claimed Cella for her first dance in her new home, and she was glad. She knew that in the arms of the Elfking she would have been the center of attention for the wrong reasons, as she was aware that her face must show her feelings about him to all of these Fair Folk. But with his son, she was comfortable and felt nothing more than friendship for him.

She was grateful towards Thranduil for helping her get over her fear of dancing in front of others. If not for him, she would never have come to this feast at all, but would be alone in her bedchamber, feeling lonely and sad.

The dancing was much like that at the vineyard, the music had the same elvish style that made moving one's feet mandatory. Cella was nearly breathless after the first turn around the floor, but the Elfprince would not let her sit. She found new energy when a series of quick-stepping songs familiar to her ears, from the Harvest Feast, were played.

Cella felt she would either collapse or keep dancing for the rest of the night, she was having so much fun, and she did not want to sit. The music slowed, and the Elfprince drew her closer to him as he led her in a more formal step. Now that the tune was gentler, they were able to talk again. Legolas told her he knew she was having fun from the lovely way her cheeks were flushed.

"Pink cheeks are a sure sign of a happy wood-sprite, or so I have heard," he assured her. Involuntarily, her hand went to her face as if she could do something to make them turn back to normal. "I can see why my father is so enchanted by you, Celiel," he said.

"Why is that?" As she waited for the younger Elf's response, she flicked her eyes toward the royal table. Throughout all of the dances, she had glanced over at Thranduil. And she was continually pleased, and puzzled, that he had stayed sitting the whole time. But now, her attention was grabbed by a new realization, and she said, out loud without meaning to, "Oh."

"What is it?" The Elfprince's grin disappeared at witnessing the sudden change in Cella's expression. "Are you ill? You do not look well. Would you like to sit down?" She shook her head and managed to breathe out that she was fine, in fact, she felt wonderful.

However, she could not say aloud what she had noticed. And it was difficult to say what shocked her more, the fact that it took so long for her to notice, or the fact that there was no willowy Elfqueen seated beside Thranduil, after all. She stared at Legolas's confused face as her mind worked hard coming up with something more to say.

They had turned and now she was facing the Elfking, and she saw that there were no Elleth seated anywhere near him. How could she explain her relief and joy to his son? She could not lie to him. But there was something she could tell him.

"You told me that your father never smiles," she said. "And I just remembered that he rarely smiled at the vineyard, either. But he always smiled at me."

"Quite understandably so, you are truly delightful company, as I was about to say," he replied. "And you are very easy to smile at, as well." He seemed satisfied with her excuse and did not pry any more. There was something else she was curious about and she was glad that he seemed willing to answer her questions. She felt she could ask him anything.

"Can you read my thoughts, too? Like His Majesty?"

"No, I cannot, you need have no fear," he answered. "But he cannot read mine anymore, when I do not wish for him to. If that is of any usefulness." He laughed at himself when he realized it was not any help to her at all.

He went on to tell her that none of the High Elves in the realm were open to his father's mind unless they wished it. However, they could communicate silently with him and each other with their thoughts more easily than the Wood-elves could, and often did.

"Can any of them," she nodded toward the royal table with her head as she spoke, "read my thoughts the way His Majesty can?" It worried her to think of it, the elegantly-robed Elves, who sat quietly and serenely with their monarch, seemed in some ways as stern and sober as the seneschal, Thaladir. If they listened in to her mind she would never think again.

"No, do not worry about them, either," said Legolas. "Although, they wish they could, they are very curious about you."

"They are? How can you tell, they seem so serious, somehow...," her voice trailed off as she cast about for the right term to describe the intimidating demeanor of the Elflords in Thranduil's court.

"Truly, they are not as unmerry as they appear. Like you, their outward appearance is deceiving to the eye."

The music became loud and boisterous again, and Cella had enough of a rest to enjoy the swifter pace. She laughed until tears came from her eyes when some of the Wood-elves began to clown on the dance floor and pretended to lose their partners and then end up with the wrong ones. They made silly faces and danced with their new partners in a deliberately awkward style.

Soon Cella was dancing with one of them, and passed to another, as the Elfprince called out loudly that she had better be returned soon and in good order. When she finally was brought back, Legolas greeted her as if she had been lost for years.

And then the music slowed again, and she recognized the melody at once. It was the song she had heard in the arms of the Elfking, the first time he had asked her to dance. It struck her that he would never dance with her again.

"Why so quiet all of a sudden?" asked Legolas. "Do you need to sit? Where are my manners? I forget you are mortal, and probably need some fresh air, or maybe some refreshments from the table. Am I right?"

"It's this song that makes me quiet," she said. "I love it. Do you know what it is called?"

"In your tongue, it would translate, 'Dear Gift'. This song is only a small part of a much longer song, a love song," the Elfprince answered. "It was first sung by Elu Thingol, a great Elflord of the Teleri, about his wife, Melian, his queen in Doriath." Although most of what he said was incomprehensible, Cella appreciated that he spoke to her as if she should understand.

Legolas drew her close to him again, and she noticed a different aspect in his eyes that had not been there before, as he spoke of the ancient world. And she knew at once that he was not young at all, merely youthful. "Would you like for me to tell you the words to the song? They are usually not sung any more, only the melody is played."

As the lovely, swaying tune played, the Elfprince sang, in a strangely beautiful chanting fashion, the words of the ancient lay to her. They told of an Elfking who was mighty in deed and spirit, but humbled in love, and of his gratitude to the Valar for his dear gift, Melian.

Although the words were not sad, Cella felt saddened by them. Because she wished she was truly an enchantress, as Melian was, and immortal. She tried not to let it show, but Legolas' voice faltered, and he asked her again if she needed to sit, to rest, to drink or to have something more to eat, or perhaps did she need to breathe some fresh air? They could go outdoors, and see the stars? As she had not been out since she had arrived, she agreed to his last offer.

The great gates opened instantly and silently, and she could see no gears or machinery that operated them. The combination of frosty cold air and the sudden dazzling view of the clear star-spangled sky above the horizon of the forest hit Cella like a slap in the face, and she involuntarily took a step back.

"Is it too cold for you? I had not thought of your mortal flesh," confessed the Elfprince. He pulled her close beside him, and rubbed the outside of her arm, as if the friction would warm her.

"The air feels like it has icicles in it," she said, puffing out clouds of white steam. "But it is marvelously refreshing." Her teeth chattered a little, and Legolas put both of his arms around her and held her to his chest.

"I suppose a real wood-sprite would not be shivering," he told her. "You are making me have to change my mind about you, but it could just be a trick. Let me see." After leaning back a bit, he lifted her chin the same way his father often would, with a finger beneath it.

However, instead of gazing into her eyes while pulling the truth from her, as his father always did, he was more interested in her nose, or the temperature of it. He tapped it. "Far too cold," he pronounced, "for an elemental spirit. You truly must be a mortal maid."

She would have answered, if she was not so cold, but she nodded firmly in agreement with his final assessment of her.

"I know of only one way to warm a mortal's nose," he said. "And I have always wanted to try." With no further warning, he kissed her.

For a moment, Cella was so shocked that she did not even close her eyes, but stood astonished as her mouth was gently assaulted by the charming Elf. Without meaning to be rude, she began to laugh. It was too much like another joke to take the gesture seriously. He backed away from her with a rueful smile.

"Is your nose any warmer?"

"It is, a little," she said, although it was not that much warmer. Nor was she anywhere else warmer.

"Estelio n�n," -Trust me,- he whispered as he bent to her again. This time, she closed her eyes and gave the kiss a chance. It was no use. Beyond guarding her slightly from the frosty air, she felt no benefit from the intimate contact. Even so, she still felt a flash of guilt when a voice spoke from behind them, and she quickly stepped away from the Elfprince.

"Man cerich, Legolas?" What are you doing, Legolas? Thranduil removed his cloak from where he had draped it over his arm, and enveloped Cella in it.

"I was only trying to warm up her nose, ada," said the younger Elf cheekily, not appearing in the least bit surprised by the interruption. Cella had to wonder for a moment if the Prince had planned for them to be found. But she would not allow herself to think any more of it; instinctively she kept her mind quiet. The Elfking's cloak had cut the chill air, leaving only her face and feet unprotected.

"It appears to me that your nose is in good hands, now." Legolas winked at her as he said so. "I will say farewell then, and return to the feast." With a polite bow, he left them alone. Cella did not move, but stared out at the brilliant stars quietly, still shivering a bit as she slowly thawed beneath the magical Elf-cloak.

"You must forgive my son," the Elfking began, but she did not let him finish.

"I will not forgive your son," Cella declared. "Because he has done nothing to be forgiven for. He was only being kind to me, and my nose." Slyly, she darted a sideways glance at him and then added, "Unlike some Elves I know..." She let her voice trail off while she moved away from him, and began to descend the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk," she answered as she continued downward, without turning to face him as she spoke. "I am not sure where, really. I just want to walk." This was the truth on both accounts. "You have shut me up in your cave all day long," she accused. "It is nice to have some fresh air to breathe."

It really was a gloriously beautiful night, and the thought of returning into the crowded hall was not appealing. The frosty air seemed to work like a tonic to her spirit.

The Elfking followed her closely, as she had assumed he would. Below them, at the bottom of the stairs, the windows in the little huts that crowded around the entrance were dark; their inhabitants were most likely all within the cave at the feast, dancing the night away. She wondered if any of them within missed their monarch's presence

"Are you warm enough?" At his question about her physical well-being, she at last turned to face him again.

"Yes, Sire, except for my nose. But, thank you for the cloak," she said. "It was most kind of you to think of me a little." After saying that, she stood still, and looked up at him. "I know you have many more important things to be concerned about, other than me." And she was not worried about his reaction. If the Elfprince was being truthful, she only had to wait.

Silently, he returned her gaze for many moments. At last he spoke.

"May the Valar forgive me," he said in a bemused tone of voice. "I can think of nothing more important to be concerned about at this moment than your cold nose."

"What are you going to do about it, Majesty?" And for some reason, she was not in the least bit surprised when he took her into his arms, and kissed her.

t b c


	31. Chapter 31?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 31

At first Cella was afraid to move while Thranduil held and kissed her, in case she broke a spell. But at last she could not help herself and finally had to push her hands out from underneath the cloak to put them around him, and press her body closer to him. His reaction was immediate, and he nearly jumped as if startled by her touch. He broke the kiss while taking her hands from around his waist.

But, instead of scolding her, or declaring himself at fault for losing control, as she expected him to do, the Elfking looked at her with worry and concern on his face as he held her hands within his own.

"Your fingers are cold, too cold." He began to massage them, to warm them further. "I must return you indoors. I do not know what my son was thinking, to bring you outdoors into this wintry air."

"My hands feel fine, Sire, as long as you hold them like that," she said. "And I don't want to go back indoors, not yet."

She could not feel her feet either. But she did not complain about them or protest his breaking their kiss; at least he did not seem upset with himself, or with her. And she felt warm everywhere else.

"I am fairly certain that your uncle will be expecting to find you with all of your fingers attached," he told her. Cella did not like being reminded of Uncle Dwain. He was far away from here, for now. She pulled her hands away from the Elfking and tucked them back inside of the cloak.

"If I promise to keep them in here, like this, where they can stay warm, and safe," she asked, "will you kiss me one more time? Please?"

Before he could even answer her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him again, to demonstrate. His hands flew up to her shoulders, and he held her by them, but he did not push her off. It was she who broke away this time, and she smiled up at him while she stood flat on her feet.

"Do you see how well that works?" she asked. "My fingers are nice and warm now, but I think my nose needs a little more help. I am sure Uncle Dwain will not want my nose to fall off, Your Majesty."

"You drive a hard bargain, firiel," Thranduil said. And he was going to kiss her again, she knew it, but something he must have either heard or felt distracted him and diverted his attention. He turned his head toward the forest as if to listen and then looked back down at her. Cella could hear nothing unusual.

"Someone is approaching," he said to her. "They are being watched, but they have managed to bypass my sentry outposts." He lifted his head up and for a moment longer he stood silent. "Come, I must find some sober Elves in the hall to ride out and investigate this mystery for me."

But Cella's nearly frozen feet would not cooperate, and she stumbled clumsily as she was guided back up the stairs with the Elfking's hand on her back. Without slowing down to ask her for the reason she was having difficulty, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her for the rest of the way up and then through the gate, which closed behind them as silently as it had opened.

Even though Thranduil was holding her in his arms, which was very nice, Cella could tell his attention was focused elsewhere as he nearly flew up the stairs toward his palace halls. He set her down gently on a bench carved into the wall and gave brisk commands to the sentries positioned there, the first Elves they had seen since they had re-entered the gates. One of the door guards went back down the stairs while the other went deeper into the palace.

Within moments, several Wood-elves, not entirely sober, but not reeling or glassy-eyed from the wine at the feast, arrived in the hall to be summarily dispatched to scout out the strangers who had entered the borders of Mirkwood without the King's permission.

It was very exciting for Cella, to watch the regal warrior Elf take steps to protect his realm, although he did not behave as if he considered the distant trespassers a serious threat. She understood enough of what was said to know that whoever it was that was encroaching on the borders may be lost travelers, and not intent on doing evil. Every effort was to be made to deter or redirect the strangers, instead of attacking them.

She envied the Wood-elves their ability to dash right out into the bitter night without having to stop first to add cloaks, boots, and gloves, as she probably should have done instead of going outdoors with only her thin dress for protection.

"Very good." Thranduil stood in front of her when they were alone again in the great pillared hall. "I trust that all is well in my forest, or will be dealt with handily by my Elves. Let us see to your feet."

"They are so cold that they are numb," she explained. However, the truth was that now that she was in the warm caves, and on carpet instead of stone, her feet had started to thaw and they tingled almost painfully. "I think I can probably walk now, but it was nice to be carried, thank you."

"Are you sure? I do not like to hear that they are numb."

"Maybe if you take off my shoes, and rub my toes, like you did to my fingers, they will be fine..." Although she had no real hope that he would do so, she enjoyed imagining it and let him see that picture in her mind, of his warm hands on her chilly bare feet.

It was impossible, however, to keep her face straight or her expression innocent, as she made the bold mental request.

"I believe it is time for a calmer head to prevail," said the Elfking.

"But, Your Majesty," she managed to say levelly. "Do you not believe that Uncle Dwain would prefer to find me with all of my toes attached, too?" It was hopeless; at the sight of his lifted eyebrow she had to cover her mouth with her hand, which barely masked her giggles.

Before he could reply, the door guards returned to take up their positions, standing still and silent. And then a few more Elves came from the feast, their curiosity aroused by the rumors of intruders in the forest, and Thranduil sent them out to follow the first group.

Despite the Elfking's nonchalant attitude toward the possibility of strangers invading his forest, Cella began to worry a little. What if it was a group of those vigilantes from the Long Lake? Maybe they thought they could invade Mirkwood to find justice for the dead Gorst? Even if they would never make it past the Wood-elves, the thought that anyone would be brave or foolish enough to invade the great woodland in order to do her harm was sobering.

She had not thought of the Laketown men, or the fire, since she had left the vineyard. And now the horror of those last hours, the sickening reek of the smoke, Uncle Dwain's injury, and the sight of her bedroom turned to ashes, swept over her. Even here, within Thranduil's massive caves protected by their mighty gates, she was not safe from her memories.

"I swore no harm would ever come to you again at the hands of those men, and I meant what I said, firiel," the Elfking said as he sat beside her on the stone bench. She took it for granted that he had read her thoughts, or perhaps had merely read her face, and she did not wonder how he knew what she was thinking.

Mutely, she nodded to show that she understood his intentions. She wished that she could erase that time from her mind. But the guilt that attended her recollections had too tight a grip on her conscience. If not for her, this royal Elf's life would be so much easier...she had brought him nothing but trouble.

"Come, let us see to your good feet." Taking her hand, he smiled as he rose and drew her up to stand beside him. "Perhaps your uncle would not miss a toe or two, but my grapes will be in need of them come next harvest season, and I cannot afford to have any missing."

As if by magic, all thoughts of Gorst, the vineyard, or even the world outside of the gates, vanished as she took Thranduil's offered arm. Cella's heart banged painfully in her chest as he led her down a corridor she had never been down and through a door that she hoped without hope would lead to his bedchamber. She did not even notice her feet, they barely touched the floor.

Instead he took her into a cozy den, with leather covered chairs, couches, and a small fireplace. Cella was only a little disappointed; at least there was more privacy here. Torches flanked grand tapestries that reached from ceiling to floor, except for on one wall that was covered with long shelves. These held books and small carvings of animals, which caught her eye for a moment. But she let herself be directed to a large chair with a cushioned footstool that sat together in front of the hearth.

It was too warm inside the small room for the cloak, which the Elfking helped Cella remove, and while he hung it up she sat on the chair and waited to see what he had in mind. She was calmer, knowing he was probably not going to do more than examine her feet, if that much, but still she wished he was interested in more than his grapes, and would kiss her again, instead. She almost regretted she had ever mentioned her toes.

He sat on the stool and asked, in a more business-like tone of voice than she would have preferred, for one of her feet. She lifted her leg and placed a foot into his outstretched hand, which he then put on top of his knee while he removed the shoe.

The firelight played over his handsome face, and Cella sat, adoring him, while he unlaced her shoe and slipped it off. And then she gasped as his hands moved up under her skirt to remove her stocking as well. When he slowly drew the silken hose off her leg she no longer regretted anything. The shivers that coursed through her body had nothing to do with feeling chilled. The heat from the fire was thawing her nicely.

Gently, he cradled her bare foot in his large hand, and counted her toes with the fingers of his other hand, grasping each one lightly as he did so, and making her giggle. She had to agree with him that they all appeared to be there, and in good shape.

"Now for the other," he said, and soon both of her feet were on his knee, bared, and with each toe carefully accounted for. "They feel warm enough to me," he remarked as he let his fingers move over them slowly. "Do they still sting?"

"No, they feel wonderful," Cella whispered as she leaned back into the chair and reveled in his touch. "I feel wonderful all over, as I usually do when you are near me." The warmth of the blaze, and the Elfking's hands, made her feel comfortable to the point of drowsiness. She stifled a yawn.

"The hour is late," he said briskly as he moved her feet to the floor. "And now that I know your good feet have not been harmed, I will find someone to escort you to your chambers."

Wordlessly, she gazed into his eyes, which shone brightly back into her own now. But she could not tell whether his eyes were illuminated by the blaze beside them, or kindled from some inner fire within him, that he would not share with her. Bravely, she stated, "I always feel wonderful when I am not tormented by being near you, that is."

Thranduil frowned slightly at her, and drew his eyebrows down. "I would not have it so," he said with a slight shake of his head.

"Then why do you make me suffer, My Lord?" His words from before the feast returned to her mind, and she repeated them as best as she could remember, "Did you not say that emotion turned back on itself, and not leading to thoughts or actions, will lead to madness? You said so, did you not?"

"That was different, I was speaking of your sadness," he said. But she was not finished and she sat up straight to press her point.

"You also said," she reminded him, "that to give vent now and then to feelings, whether of pleasure," she paused to emphasize that word before continuing, "or discontent, is a great ease to a mortal's heart. Did you not say that? And yet you do not allow my heart even the slightest ease, Sire." To show how miserable she felt, she slumped back into the chair, and sighed.

"It is no easier for me, firiel," he told her. "Do you forget that I have vowed to protect you and that..." he began, but at those words she boldly interrupted him. No longer was her head in control, her heart had taken over. And her heart did not want her to fight fair.

"You cannot protect me from myself, then," Cella choked out as she fought tears. "Nor from the pain I feel when you are near me and I cannot reach out to touch you, and hold you. Perhaps to ease your heart, and therefore ease my own." She wiped her eyes and stared down at her hands after folding them in her lap. "Unless," she added softly, "you derive some pleasure from the pain I feel. That must be it."

"No," he said, but she kept speaking.

"And the pain that I feel is not only constant and unceasing, but is only further inflamed each time you draw near to me and I cannot touch you. But you will show me no mercy."

"You do not believe that," he gently chided her. "I do not want to see you suffer any pain, Celiel." Clearly now, she remembered the look in his eyes when he had spoken of madness and she knew that it was not her pain alone that concerned her.

"Whenever I see you, Sire," she said, "my heart delights, but the rest of me aches. I may be safe from harm here and from those men of the Long Lake town, Gorst's kin and the rest. But how can I long endure the constant torment of being so near you, and yet so far that I can never reach out to you, and be of some comfort to you."

"Do not worry for me, firiel," he replied firmly. "I can and I will long endure adversity, no matter what form and shape it takes."

"Maybe, then, it is far easier for you than it is for me because you are a wise and noble King and I am but a small and common mortal. So, it is not hard for you to deny yourself what little I have to offer. And I would never deny you anything, Majesty," she said with her head still bowed. She finally looked up to face him, not caring that her words might be reckless.

"I only require that you feel safe and happy here," he explained patiently. "Other than that I do not ask you to concern yourself with my happiness."

"You say you want me to be happy, and yet you deny me that which would make me most happy." Cella knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she had to try while she had this chance, before the moment passed forever.

"Because you do not know what you are asking for," the Elfking stated flatly. "Nor have you considered all of the consequences, which I do not expect you to do. It is your innocence that makes you feel brave, Celiel, and it is that innocence that I would protect." He stood up, to show that the conversation was finished, or at least his participation in it.

It was another impasse, the magical spell had been broken, but Cella did not feel defeated, only delayed. He had kissed her, and more than once, she kept that in mind. And since she was not schooled in the art of seduction, she could do no more at the moment than rein in her heart and call a temporary retreat.

She was not entirely unhappy, but she still yearned to find a way of reaching through the Elfking's noble nature, which he wore like a mantle of chain mail, and touch his heart. Quietly and obediently, she put her stockings and shoes back on, but deliberately lifted her skirt higher than she needed to in the hope that he was watching her. She could not bring herself to even peek in his direction as she did so.

He left her alone to find her an escort, and she took the opportunity to study the animal carvings more closely. There were nearly every type of animal she had ever seen, plus some she hoped to never have to see. Antlered stags were posed with does and fawns, and foxes, rabbits and bears lived in unnatural harmony in the wooden menagerie.

Her favorites were a series of delicately carved birds. Each of their tiny feet gripped miniature branches of whatever type of plant, bush, or tree that they normally perched upon. The detail work reminded her of the carvings in the Elfking's canopied bed at the vineyard.

Cella closed her eyes and smiled as she imagined it. She sighed wistfully, and wished in vain that she was back there now, surrounded by the dark green curtains, and alone with Thranduil.

As if that thought was a signal, the door opened and he returned. But he gave no sign of having changed his mind, and she saw that there was another Elf with him, her escort. Without speaking, she nodded and stepped past them out into the corridor, ready to be led to bed, alone. The Elfking could not stop her from thinking about him, once she was there.

"I would rather you take me to my room, Your Majesty," Cella said, and she did not have to pretend that she felt shy near the unfamiliar Elf, who otherwise appeared harmless.

If she and Thranduil had been alone, she would have promised him to behave like a lady should, if he showed her the way to her chambers, and that she would not bring up her feelings about him again. Instead, she looked into his eyes, and hoped he understood. When he smiled down at her, she almost felt him answer, and she knew he had heard her.

After speaking to her would-be escort, whose name she never learned, Thranduil accepted her silent offer and offered his arm to her once again. And she knew that she did not need to be upheld, and was quite able to walk unassisted, so the fact that he initiated further physical contact with her, even in this formal fashion, filled her with hope. At least he was not afraid to let her touch him.

She was able to keep her thoughts neutral as they walked down the corridors by concentrating on the tapestries that lined the walls and asking many questions about them. A few times, the Elfking would pause to point out a certain detail in the woven pictures that he thought might interest her, to her delight. And he let her touch them, as she had often wanted to since the first time she had seen them.

"Seeing the fall of this ancient city through your eyes has given me a new vision about it," he said to her after they had stopped and discussed a dramatic trio of tapestries that depicted battles between Elves and orcs in a place he called Beleriand. His words were almost as good as a kiss.

When they reached the door to her chambers, Cella claimed that the large reception hall with its pillars was too large and eerie for her to walk through it alone. She would not feel safe unless he remained with her until she reached the door to her private suite.

"Lothriel should be in there, waiting for me. She said that she would be." And this was enough to win her his arm through the last large hall. As before, her own footsteps echoed through the pillars, but she could not hear Thranduil's footfall beside her at all.

"Have a good rest, firiel," said the Elfking when they had reached the door to her bedchamber. Cella moved swiftly. She disengaged her arm from his elbow and before he could prevent it, threw her arms around him and held herself tight against his body. But she did not look up at him; instead she pressed her face against his chest and spoke.

"Goodnight to you, Your Majesty," she said. "And thank you for the beautiful bedroom. I have not said that to you yet, have I?" Now she did glance up at him, and was relieved to see him smiling down at her, even if he would not return her embrace as she had wished. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and held them gently.

"Oh, you have said so, only not in so many words," he replied. He kissed her upturned forehead and she sighed to show that she was disappointed. Impulsively, she stood on tiptoe and quickly kissed his lips.

"There," she said. "That is a better thank-you, I think." And she also thought that if he wanted her to release him, he was going to have a difficult time of it. She was not going to let go this time.

t b c


	32. Chapter 32?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 32

At last, Cella made up her mind that she was going to make a stand. In the final moment she had dug in her heels, and refused to let go of the Elfking. Nothing would make her release him. She imagined him prying her arms off while she gripped tighter and wept, and she realized he would not do that for fear he would hurt her.

She pressed her cheek against his chest and did not look up into his face just in case she would see him frowning down at her, and therefore lose heart. She was not going to let go of him.

Cella clung to the Elfking as tightly as a floundering and exhausted swimmer would cling to a rock encountered by chance in a stormy sea. And just like a drowning person, she was afraid to release her hold, lest she be swept away and submerged beneath the waves of these powerful new emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. These curious feelings that seemed to uplift, embolden, frighten, and depress her, and all at the same time.

And yet, there was more to her desperate embrace than desire for physical closeness to the object of her dreams and desires. Cella realized that she dreaded, now that she was here before the bedchamber door, the idea of sleeping in these enormous guest quarters.

Except for the disastrous morning she had crawled alone into Thranduil's bed at the vineyard, and the night she had slept in the Elfking's arms in the forest, she had never slept more than a few footsteps away from her own kin. But here in Thranduil's halls, she felt miles away from everyone else, and the Elves were all mostly strangers to her.

No matter how much she would have wished for it she did not expect the Elfking to accompany her into her bed and sit beside her while she slept. But neither was she eager to be parted from him, and be alone for the rest of the night. It was possible that Lothriel would stay with her, but she was not sure if the Elleth was planning on doing that, or if it would be proper to ask her.

It would not be long before Thranduil noticed that even though she had said goodnight to him, she was not releasing him, and that she had no intention to do so. She held on tightly and waited.

"You were curious, earlier," he said calmly, as if he saw nothing unusual in her behavior, "about the presence of a queen within my halls." At those words, every muscle in Cella's body went rigid for a moment, and her eyes widened. But she did not let go.

"Legolas' mother?" he added.

"Yes, I was curious." Cella answered very slowly, unsure that she wanted to know any more about the subject. Cautiously she lifted her eyes to his face, he was not frowning at her, but he was not smiling either. Which made his next words all the more devastating to hear.

"I do have a wife."

If Cella had been handed a burning brand to embrace, she could not have let go of it more quickly than she did Thranduil at that very moment. But she did not step back, for his hands on her shoulders gripped her tightly, although not painfully so, and she could not move.

"She gave up her life here, and her spirit departed from me, while she was giving birth to my son," he said as his eyes seemed to bore into her soul in an effort to impress the truth into her mind.

Cella had not had an opportunity to ask any of the Elves about the location of the Elfprince's mother, once she had decided that there was not an Elfqueen here in the palace. But she had suspected that the absence of a Queen, if there ever was one, was not due to happy circumstances.

And now her heart went out to both son and father. To just imagine the sorrow the Elfking must have felt at the death of his wife and with a new babe to care for by himself was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"I am so sorry, Your Majesty, for your loss." She could think of nothing more to say, and her heart ached to think of the merry Elf, Legolas, without a mother at all.

"Although my wife has departed this world," explained Thranduil, "she is not lost. An Elf never dies, Celiel. Indeed, she has passed on to the Halls of Mandos, where she might linger until the end of all things. Or, if allowed, she may re-embody and dwell with her kin in Aman. But she will never return to this brutal world, of that I am sure. Her last days here were agony, for both of us."

Although he spoke to her seriously, it was not until that moment that a flicker of pain appeared within his otherwise calm and steady gaze. It pierced her as thoroughly and painfully as an iron-tipped spear would have done, if aimed at her heart.

She knew very little about the Fair Folk, but she had been taught that the Elves had another home, their one true home, over the sea. Was this Aman that he spoke of the place all of the Elves would sail away to, eventually? Would he go to her someday, she wondered, and resume their life together? She loved him that much, that she hoped he would, if it would bring his heart ease.

"I am so sorry," Cella whispered again, not knowing what else to say, and not knowing why he was telling her this, either. "I wish you never had to suffer, Your Majesty." He smiled down at her and lifted one of his hands from her shoulder to stroke her hair.

"Ah, but who, even among the lofty Valar, can live time through forever without suffering?" he asked. "Pain and pleasure, like light and darkness, succeed each other. To spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience full happiness. Do not misunderstand me, firiel, for I do not mean for you to be burdened with my sorrow."

"Yes, Sire," she answered, as if she understood. He took his hand from her hair and held her shoulder with it again.

"The grace of the Valar is a gift not lightly given or taken, firiel, and there is a curse hidden within every blessing that they bestow upon the Eldar. For with that bestowal of power comes a great responsibility. No Elflord is invested with the authority of a throne without being at the same time burdened with that responsibility. And I had an obligation and a duty to my people to not give in to despair at the worst, lest their own hearts despair at the least. Do you understand me?"

"I think so," she answered. "You had to be brave for your subjects, and not show how much you were hurting. I can understand that, how you would do that." But she did not necessarily understand why he was telling her any of this.

When the voice came from across the hall, Cella was staring deeply into the Elfking's eyes as she thought over what he had just told her and heard nothing. And it was only after the speaker repeated his words again that both of them briefly turned to see who was there.

"Excuse me." It was Legolas. He stepped into the reception hall and approached them. "I do not mean to interrupt anything, but I was just wondering, ada...?"

"Yes, what is it?" Thranduil did not turn his head again as he asked, but kept his eyes on Cella. She did look at Legolas and smiled at the sight of his ever cheerful face as he approached them, even as she wished that she and the Elfking could continue with their conversation.

It had just been getting interesting, even though his words were mostly making her feel sad. At least it was pleasant when he had petted her hair. There had been something in the expression on his face that had made her think he was about to tell her something important. But that could have been wishful thinking on her part, too.

"Are either of you planning on returning to the feast soon?" Cella could not tell if the Elfprince was being polite by pretending not to notice that she was alone with his father, or had expected to find them here together and was not surprised. As an answer to his question, she shook her head and then cast her eyes downward for a moment.

"His Majesty," she said, "believes it is time for me to go to bed, so I will not be returning." The Elfprince clucked his tongue sadly and sighed.

"Alright then, you are excused," he said and then turned to his father with lifted eyebrows. "And Your Majesty...?" The younger Elf suppressed a grin as he uttered the lofty title.

"Actually," replied the Elfking, "I have some other business to attend to, outside of the gates..." He released Cella's shoulders and for a moment she stood feeling bereft. And she was caught once more in that awful place of being both too near and too far from him. A feeling she knew now she would have to accept and grow accustomed to. "A minor disturbance, perhaps, in the woodland," Thranduil added as explanation while he turned to his son.

"Ah yes, yes, so I have been told," the Elfprince said, and then, with a puzzled expression added, "Something about trespassers being at the forest borders?"

Thranduil nodded in reply and Legolas's face brightened like he had just heard good news. As if stating an obvious fact, he said to his father, "But even on the fastest steeds from the stables it will not be until midmorning before the riders return with their tidings. Surely you have plenty of time in the meanwhile to make merry?" He grinned broadly at both of them.

With an unmistakably mischievous twinkle in his eyes, the Elfprince glanced at Cella and then looked back to his father while he added, "In the feasting hall that is. The atmosphere is just at the edge of chaos." He laughed just thinking of it. "If you wait too long, it will be a complete catastrophe, and you will have missed all the fun!"

After saying this, the agile younger Elf swiftly moved around the pair standing before the bedchamber door, which he opened. He groaned mournfully as he peeked inside.

"What are you thinking of, ada, to make your wood-sprite sleep alone, by herself, in such a lonely and unfamiliar place?" Quickly, he returned to Cella's side and took one of her hands into his. He petted it as if it was a fragile object. "You go on ahead to the feast, Your Majesty; I will stay here and keep her company." He announced this as if he was making a great, personal sacrifice on her behalf.

"Nonsense," the Elfking said as he entered the room and beckoned for them to follow. "Lothriel is within and she will keep Celiel company tonight, neither of you need fear. I am not an ogre, ion."

"He could have fooled me," whispered Legolas into Cella's ear, but so quietly that she almost thought she might have imagined it. The Elfprince still held her hand in one of his, but he now had his other hand on her back and followed closely behind her as if she was so frail that she needed his assistance to even move forward. She wondered what he was up to this time.

However, she did not know what to think after they stepped into the dimly lit room. Lothriel had doused the torches, and now only a few candles and the fire's light illuminated everything. But the Elleth was nowhere to be seen. Legolas could not disguise the mirth in his voice as he replied to the unasked question.

"Oh dear, I forgot to mention that I sent Lothriel off to the feast, no use for her to be sitting here alone tonight while everyone else was making merry." As he said this he released Cella's hand and stood between her and his father with a regretful look on his face and a very amused gleam in his eyes.

Thranduil stared right back at him, expressionless, and she wondered if he was speaking to his son, silently. If he was, the Elfprince did not appear to have heard.

"But I will go there at once and fetch her," he declared happily. "Now that you have returned, I can see that her presence is needed. Wish me luck!" Before either Cella or the Elfking could have done a thing to prevent it, he was out of the door, which was closed behind him.

"He will not be back soon," said Thranduil as he went over to the door. "I will go find you some suitable company." But, before he could leave, she replied quickly.

"I'll be fine, Sire." Cella felt brave as she added, "I don't need Lothriel or anyone else for a nursemaid." She smiled at him and then said, "And I keep telling you that I am a woman, and not a child. Perhaps I should act the part to prove it is true."

She shrugged at her own fears, now that she was in the lovely bedchamber. It was not fearfully lonely in appearance as her imagination had made it to be. With the firelight's reddish glow burnishing every reflective surface it felt almost magical. Across the room from her, the Elfking's skin appeared to have been dipped in copper; his hair was a shimmering river of liquid flame when he slowly nodded.

"You will not be afraid?" He asked gently, and she melted inside at his concern. Ogre, indeed. Why would his son think so? But, then she remembered what else she had just learned, about the grief surrounding the birth of the Elfprince, and she hoped for Legolas's sake that his father had shown his own child as much concern as he gave to her. She felt sure that he had, or his son would not be so light-hearted and kind.

"I will be fine, I promise," she said, and she meant it. "And I am able to undress myself and put on my own nightgown, too..." Cella stopped suddenly and put her hand to her mouth as it dawned on her that she had nothing to wear to sleep in.

She had put on her shift again, reluctantly, after her bath, under the robe she was leant to wear, and she had it on still. And now the idea of sleeping in it made her feel more uncomfortable, it needed to be laundered.

"I am so foolish," she said, "I have forgotten to bring my nightgown." She recalled as best she could where she had last seen it and when she had last worn it, the lovely gown she had been given at the vineyard, when she was allowed into the Elfking's bed. Her mind raced to track it down in her memory.

And then, "Oh, it must have been lost in the fire." It was not easy to remember anymore, because she would rather not have to relive that last morning.

"There should be something for you to wear in there," Thranduil said, breaking into her thoughts. He gestured to a door on the far side of her bed, in a part of the chamber that was now dark in shadow. It was a place that she had meant to explore earlier, when and if she was finally left alone in her room. He asked, "Did Lothriel not show you within?"

"What is in there?" asked Cella warily, and she was relieved when he picked up a candleholder with a lit taper, stepped across the room, and opened the mysterious door for her. She would have followed after him except for the sound of the chamber door opening behind her. She turned to see that they had company, again.

"I regret to inform you that Lothriel cannot make it back," Legolas shook his head sadly. "However," he added, after he glided over to stand beside Cella and take her hand again, "I will gladly assist you, in whatever capacity that you might need my assistance. I feel in my heart that it is the least I can do." He glanced over toward to the Elfking as if just remembering he had a father.

"What are you doing over there, ada?" Legolas pulled Cella by her hand over to where the Elfking stood, and then, after he deftly grabbed the candle from his father's hand as he passed by, they entered the little room together. She drew in her breath as the area was illuminated. It was a room filled with wraiths, or so it appeared by the flickering candlelight which cast sharp wavering shadows over the tall shrouded figures that loomed before them.

"What have we here, I wonder?" asked the Elfprince as he drew what turned out to be a sheet of fabric covering one of the ghostly forms and revealed a table that had a chair in front of it and a round mirror attached to the top of it. With a flick of the Elf's wrist, another wraith turned out to be a tall standing mirror on a swiveling base. An already partially uncovered wardrobe was standing with its doors opened, and inside hung clothing that Cella recognized and some that she did not. They were in a dressing room.

To her surprise, and pleasure, the forest-green riding suit was in the large and mostly empty closet, and Legolas drew the tunic part of it from its hook. He held it up for Cella's appreciative inspection and pointed out that it looked to have been altered to her size before handing it to her.

"Now that it will fit you properly, I cannot wait to see it on you again. Mayhap you and I can go for a ride in the forest on the morrow?" She nodded in agreement at the offer of another horse back ride, forgetting for the moment how sore she had been from her last one.

But she was eager to try the tunic on again as she held the glittering garment against herself and marveled at how skillfully the tailoring had been done. The sleeves and hem had been shortened to the proper length and yet the silver-threaded embroidery and beadwork appeared untouched.

She turned her head to glance over to where Thranduil stood outside the dressing-room door, to say 'thank you' to him, and was happy to find that he was right beside her.

"What are you still doing here, ada?" asked the Elfprince; as he held the candle up to shine into the wardrobe so that he could better examine the contents. "The two of us are doing fine now, are we not?" He tossed this last comment over his shoulder at Cella but did not wait for her response as he continued speaking, "I will take good care of your little wood-sprite. You can run along and feast with the rest of the merry-makers in the hall."

While he talked, Legolas had taken a nightgown from a shelf where it had been placed, folded, and handed it to her. She nearly dropped it.

"Is there something wrong?" the Elfprince asked. "Judging by the late hour I assume you were not coming in here for another dress to dance in, were you?" Cella shook her head 'no', but was otherwise wordless. The gown he had handed to her was either the same one she had been given at the vineyard or it was identical to it in every single detail.

"Legolas." His father's voice held a hint of a warning.

"It is entirely my fault that Lothriel is not here to tend to her properly," the Elfprince said. Quietly he asked Cella, "Will you forgive me?" And then, before she could reply, back to his father, "Thus you must allow me to be of service. I can see right away that she will need some assistance into her night dress." He took the gown out of Cella's hands and held it up for display.

"Very nice," Legolas proclaimed. "And I can guarantee you that I have not worn this particular article of clothing before you have."

"I think it came from the vineyard." Cella directed her next remark to Thranduil, "But how?" And now, without him having to tell her, she recalled the bath she took in his bedchamber the day Lanthiriel had brought her the new dress. She had left the nightgown there in the mansion, where the fire had never reached. Of course.

"You brought it," she pointed out and the Elfking nodded. "Thank you for remembering it for me," she added and wished she was alone with him, so that she could thank him with a quick kiss instead of words.

"Now, lets turn you around," said Legolas, in a no-nonsense tone of voice, while he twirled his finger to indicate that she should present her back to him, which she did. He explained, "This is no time for reminiscing over the past. We must get you into your bed immediately, if His Majesty says so."

Before Cella knew exactly what he was going to do, she could feel his hands at the back of her dress and his fingers tickled her neck as he tried to unfasten the garment. "Gracious me, now how does this work, I wonder?"

"Legolas." This time the Elfking's voice was a bit more severe than last.

"A female garment appears to be a very complicated device, ada, but give me a moment, I am sure to figure this out." He tugged harder, but Cella could tell he was being careful not to pull the fabric too firmly and damage the dress.

And without having to see his fingers she was fairly sure he was not really trying to undo the hooks. "Alright, I surrender." He leaned over her far enough to see her face and winked. Then he announced, "I am sorry to tell you this, wood-sprite, but you will have to sleep in this gown tonight. Although I could cut it off of you with a knife, I suppose..."

Quite certain that he was not being serious at all, Cella answered in a light tone, "What a pity. I did so love this dress. But if you insist..." she let her voice trail off.

"I most certainly do insist. It is not any more proper to sleep in a dancing dress, young lady, than it is to dance in a sleeping dress. However, I am sad to say that I have forgotten to bring my knife with me. I suppose I shall have to use my teeth." The absurd notion made Cella giggle.

"Legolas." Now Thranduil's voice was taut with exasperation.

"Yes, father? Did you need something? I see you are still here."

"Leave us," the Elfking replied firmly "Now."

"Are you sure your teeth are up to this task, ada?" At hearing this final retort from Legolas, Cella had to cover her mouth again, and she dared not look at either the Elfking or his son, for fear she would laugh out loud disrespectfully.

"Right. Now."

"My, my," said the Elfprince, clucking his tongue, "the hour grows late and my wine bowl sits unattended in the feasting hall, what ever was I thinking? I bid you both a good night, then." After bowing to them, he turned to leave, but paused and turned back to his father and added as a last minute thought, "Be very careful near the skin around her neck, she is delicate you know, and your teeth look sharp." With a last cheerful grinning nod, he departed.

Biting her lip to keep her own grin under control, Cella stood beside the Elfking, turned, and presented her back to him. "I am not afraid, Sire, of your sharp teeth." And she waited to see what he would do next.

t b c


	33. Chapter 33?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 33

The merry attitude of the impudent Elfprince had proved infectious, and Cella could not help but continue to tease Thranduil, although wordlessly, about helping her to undress now that they were alone together. It was harmless enough, she thought, to pretend she was suddenly helpless.

Besides that, her hands were full now with the nightgown that Legolas had conveniently handed over to her a few moments before he left the dressing room. She held the Elf-made garment to her face and enjoyed the way the soft fabric felt against her cheek.

As she stood with her back to the Elfking, she tried to imagine what it would be like if either he or his son had actually tried to remove her dress with their teeth. What such removal tactics would do to the delicate fabric was enough of a sobering counterbalance to the absurd idea that she did not pursue it very far. It could not be a very pleasant experience, she concluded.

She hoped that if the mind-reading monarch was seeing the same pictures that appeared in her mind that she saw, while she considered such a thing, that he did not think she was being too foolish. It was obvious the younger elf was being silly, and was not really going to tear her dress off. But she could not stop herself from considering it.

Across the dressing-room from where they both stood, there was a tall mirror in the corner, one of the mysterious wraiths previously uncovered by Legolas. It provided her with a partial view of Thranduil in profile as he stood behind her. Sadly, she could not see much besides his chin, cheekbone and the edge of his nose clearly, because of the way the reflecting glass was angled. But at least she could tell that he was there.

Legolas had put the candle on the same little table that had the round looking-glass attached to it, so that the flickering flame's light was doubled. Interesting shadows were thrown over the room, including the visible edges of the Elfking's handsome face, making it even more difficult to tell from his expression what his mood might have been.

"You would be better off with an Elleth to assist you, I believe," he said at last, but not unkindly. And he did not move away from her. "It has been many, many years since I have unfastened a gown." She marveled at the idea of the brilliant Elfking doubting his own abilities over such a simple task. But she was not unhappy to hear that he had not had much practice.

"If you would do me the courtesy of undoing just the top hooks," Cella answered. "I can undo the rest of them by myself." She smiled to herself as his nimble fingers worked on the garment. "I trust you more than anyone else I know, Sire," she added. "To undress me, I mean."

She thought she detected a smile on his face in the mirrored reflection, but it was hard to tell. And then it occurred to her what she had just said, and to amend it, she said, "I mean I trust you with anything that has to do with me. Or anything else." She finally stopped trying to make it sound better when Thranduil leaned forward slightly to speak to her, and now his face in the mirror was clearly visible.

"Is that sufficient?" He had opened her dress about half way down her back. She reached around herself to feel it and declared that he had done very well and thanked him. He noticed his own reflection in the tall mirror at that point, and they both stood silent for a moment, regarding themselves at the other side of the small room. She spoke to his image.

"You were going to say something else to me, before Legolas came in, weren't you?" Even though she had enjoyed the younger Elf's amusing company, she had not for a minute stopped wondering what Thranduil was going to say to her before his son had interrupted them in front of her chamber door. "Something," she reminded him now, "about having an obligation and a duty to be brave for your subjects?" He regarded her reflection in the mirror calmly for a time before he spoke.

"My son spoke true, firiel, the hour is late," replied the Elfking. He took a step back from her, and turned slightly, as if to leave.

"Wait," she said as she turned to face him again, "don't go away yet, please." She felt that if she let him go now, it might be some time before she had the chance to speak with him alone again, if ever.

"You need to rest, now." He remained standing where he was, though. If he did not want to be alone with her, he would have turned again and left at that moment, she was sure.

"In a way I wish Legolas had never come," she said. "Even though he does make me laugh, Sire." There was more she wanted to say to Thranduil, such as she was hoping that he would hold her and maybe even kiss her again, but the time for that seemed to have passed, and she had no hope of reviving it.

However, every moment he remained with her was a gift not to be taken lightly. She continued on about the Elfprince, it felt like a safe topic. "I don't know when to take the things he says to me seriously and when not to, but he does make me smile either way."

"Ever and anon my son does try my patience with his provocations," agreed Thranduil, "But always he is trying to lighten my heart, so I do forgive him, and love him all the more for that," he added with a proud smile while she took a step forward to close the gap between them.

"Then I love him, too, for trying to lighten your heart," she said. "It is always wonderful to see you smile, Majesty."

"Ah, you can never know what delight you bring into these gloomy halls, firiel, without trying to at all." And she knew instinctively, without having to think about it, that she needed to proceed with the utmost caution. As if taming a wild animal, the slightest wrong move would send him into flight.

e He

"I know you are only being polite, Your Majesty, and I am grateful to you for being kind," she responded carefully. "However, it is clear that I have brought you nothing but troubles and difficulties, and one after the other. Having to cope with that fire and those men from the Long Lake could not possibly delight anyone."

Although by mentioning the worrisome series of events she had been involved with at the vineyard, Cella had meant to say something that would not threaten or annoy him, hearing her own words brought her up short. And knowing that what she said was truth, from her point of view at least, she realized that she had no right to press for another moment of the monarch's valuable time.

And now she did feel a bit foolish for stalling him in the little dressing room, while important affairs of his realm may be in need of his attention, which was something she had no way of knowing. Not that he behaved as if he had detected anything urgent, but she was not sure he would allow his perfect features to display any problem he may sense, beyond her chambers, while he was alone with her.

Or perhaps he wished to return to his feasting hall and spend time with the merry-making Elves, who he had been parted from for all of that time he had been at the vineyard. It made her feel guilty for being so selfish with his time that she may be depriving others of his presence. She had no right or claim on him.

He smiled at her, however, and even chuckled a little, but whether he was amused by her comments about the troubles she had caused or her thoughts about him, she did not know. But a thrill ran through her when he took one of her hands into his while he addressed her fears.

"You have brought me the type of problems that I could have only wished for at times of real strife and danger in my realm," Thranduil said reassuringly. "If only I had been given the leisure of time and the lightness of wit to wish for them."

"Was that during the time you were talking about to me?" She hoped he would forget that he had been cut short by the Elfprince, and would continue telling her now about his life after the departure of his wife, even though it was sad. She felt there was a reason he had mentioned anything at all to her regarding his state of mind during what must have been a terrible time to endure.

As she had seen him do before when talking about past battles or dangers, the light in his eyes seemed to turn inward while he withdrew into his memories and traveled back to an earlier time and place

"Almost I believed," he said, "that the gloom shrouding my forest emanated outward from my own soul. And so, to meet each day, I made a barrier around my heart, to keep the grief to one side while I served as King to my subjects and battled my enemy." He was quiet for a moment, and Cella wondered if he remembered she was there, he seemed far away in his thoughts of the past.

After a moment, the Elfking focused on her again, and said, "This Watchful Peace has its own challenges, dangers, and cares, but none that compare with all out warfare with the legions of darkness outside my gates." He quirked the side of his mouth into a tight smile and added, "Indeed, the dull-witted maliciousness of the mortals that reside in Laketown is barely an adequate diversion."

"How will I ever hope to thank you enough for all that you have done for me, and my uncle, Sire?" And she was not coy with her question, for she sincerely felt grateful.

"My chief reward is in knowing that you are safe from harm here," he said and again, as he had done earlier that night, he stroked her hair. She let the nightgown slide down to the crook of her elbow and then put her hand over his and held it to the side of her head, but did no more than smile back into his eyes. It may not have been the right moment for any more romantic behavior, but she loved him so much that she did not desire to let him leave her alone if she could help it.

Without warning, he lifted her other hand, which he still held, and pressed his lips against it. "You have done what my son and many others have tried and thus far have failed to do." He rounded her fingers into a ball.

"With a fist this tiny you have broken a chink in the wall I so carefully built around my heart, and by the light shining now within I see that it was a prison I dwelt in, and not the haven of safety it first appeared." He released her hand while she was hoping that he would not.

She listened to what he said but did not feel the impact of what she heard for many breathless moments. And with a tiny cry of joy she dropped the nightgown and put her arms around his neck to draw his head closer to her, and kissed him on the mouth. Abruptly he began to pull away, but she held on, willing him to respond to her.

And her heart surged with joy when he did. His large hand came up to cradle her head as he crushed his mouth against her and thrust his tongue eagerly between her pliant lips. With his other arm he held her to him, bending her back slightly as he pressed himself down upon her.

Instantly, Cella was inflamed and nearly breathless. His passion was almost overwhelming but she rallied and answered it with the eagerness of youth and freshly unbridled desire.

She took one of her arms from his neck and used it to pull him closer to her body as she pressed herself tightly to him. Her knees felt weak when she felt his hand at her back, slipping beneath her dress where he had unfastened it to stroke the silky shift she wore beneath it.

An unimaginably pleasant tingling warmth emanated from her breasts as they rubbed against Thranduil's firm chest and it spread down to between her legs, and she felt closer than ever before to understanding what being a woman meant. She wanted more, or she wanted to be closer, she was not sure which, but she never wanted it to end. And, at the same time, she wanted it to go farther.

When the Elfking pulled his mouth away from hers, she moaned with disappointment and tried to kiss him again, but he put her at arm's length with a hand on each of her shoulders.

"What witchcraft do you weave, firiel," his voice was rough, but his eyes were glowing with lust, "that weakens me and causes me to abandon all of my will."

"I only want to love you, Sire," panted Cella as she pressed her cheek against one of the hands that held her still. "Please, let me." And she could tell he was restraining himself, if only by a thread, but it was a strong thread.

"Celiel..."

"Please," she whispered. He shook his head.

"This is not right," he began, but she pulled back from him as hard as she could while shrugging her shoulders to make him release his grip on them, and frowned at him. Her heart was beating furiously beneath her aching breasts and she did not know why but she suddenly had the notion to strike out at the Elfking.

"In that case, I will go and find Legolas," she declared. "He wants to kiss me." And as soon as she saw, or thought she saw, the implication of her remark register in Thranduil's eyes, she felt triumphant. Without further thought, without any thought, she shot a last frustrated glare at the infuriating monarch as she attempted to step around him on her impulsive quest to explore her womanhood.

Effortlessly, he trapped one of her wrists within his hand and held on firmly, without hurting her, as she tugged in vain to release it and get away from him.

"Let me out of here," she demanded. Her boldness surprised her and made her feel even more reckless. But Thranduil seemed calmer than he had just moments before, which maddened her further, as he mildly responded to her.

"Although I trust my son, I am not sure I trust you," he told her. However, his tone of voice belied his amusement over her behavior, which did not make her feel happier being with him with no hope of immediate escape.

"Well you shouldn't trust me," Cella replied tersely. "Because I think that I might do something dangerous, although I am not sure what." Up to then she had not dared look at his face. She darted her eyes sideways to see that he was grinning at her. She did not find it amusing to be considered a joke when she was feeling both serious and dangerous.

"Blackmail," he pronounced as he pulled her closer to him with a jerk and gazed into her staring eyes. "What next?" His smile widened and showed off his perfect teeth. How could he play with her emotions with such a cavalier attitude?

"Murder," she stated simply, meaning it. His eyes flashed with mirth, or anger, she could not tell which and she did not care either way. If she could not escape him then she was certainly not going to make it any more fun for him than it was for her to be at this impasse.

"Plotting treason against the throne of Mirkwood earns a royal penalty, mortal maid," he warned. "Now that you are one of my subjects, I have the right to punish you if you do not control your tongue while you reside in my halls."

"Then do so," she dared him. "Punish me." She tugged again at her wrist. "Or let me go," she said sharply between clenched teeth.

Instead he bent his head to bring his face closer to hers. "Never," he said and he kissed her again, still holding her wrist in his grip with her elbow bent against his chest as he did so.

But Cella could not bear it anymore, she was only human, and she was not skilled in the art of romance. Perhaps one had to be an Elleth to be in love with an Elf. This time, she broke away from him.

"And this is how you punish me? You torture me with your kisses instead," she accused. "And then you will only pull away and say no again. I know that you can easily deny yourself, but why must you play with me this way?" Her voice was ragged with the aggravation she felt, as well the desperation to urge him into taking his love-making further. Before he could answer her, she kissed him again.

He released her wrist, finally, and both of his hands were in her hair as she wound her arms around him again, and felt the same heat she had felt before rising up and spreading out within her. She pulled away again, but not far, just enough to speak as she looked into his eyes.

"Do you want me, Sire?" With her eyes she pleaded with him to say that he did, but she kissed him again before he was able to respond. His mouth was too close for her to resist, and as long as he would at least kiss her back, she would continue.

His hands left her hair and he embraced her, which made her feel even dizzier. She broke away again, her heart was in charge and she had long stopped thinking of what she was doing or saying. "Do you? Say it, say that you want me. Do not deny me." He crushed his mouth on hers and answered her with his kiss, but it was not enough.

"Say it, say it to me," she whispered between kisses. "Say that you want me." Her voice was hoarse and she was panting again. His hands were moving over her back, inside of her gown, caressing her while he kissed her, arousing her completely. And she thought she might stop breathing any moment if her pounding heart did not explode and kill her first. "Say it."

"I want you," admitted Thranduil, but it was not with a voice of defeat or surrender. Instead he sounded nearly angry, his eyes were aglow with a fierce light and there was no smile on his face. "And I will have you," he declared, as if there had ever been a battle about who was denying who.

But perhaps there was a battle, Cella realized, as he nearly bent her over his arm at her back with his kiss again, and then he moved his mouth from hers and let it travel down over her chin to her neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses upon her flesh. Using a tattered shred of her mind that was all she had left for thinking with, she was sure about something that she believed all along, that it was always himself he was at war with, and not her.

Her gown was slipping from her shoulders from his handling of her, and she managed to pull it all the way down to her hips between kisses. She reveled in the way it felt to press against his hard body with only the thin fabric of her shift between her and his tunic.

"I want to feel your skin," she demanded, with a boldness born on the spot with her combined desire and passion for a midwife. "I want to feel all of you against me." And somehow she knew that she was going to be getting her wish.

t b c


	34. Chapter 34?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 34

They almost did not make it onto the bed. It was mostly Cella's fault. The Elfking's generous caresses both outside and inside the back of her dress had further loosened the rest of the hooks to the point that it was slipping off of her shoulders and annoying her. Somehow she managed to yank down the loosened garment between kisses so that it was at least off of her arms and no longer restricting her in any way. After that, the gown began to slip farther and farther off of her body while she kissed Thranduil.

Deliriously oblivious to the rest of the world, she was hopelessly lost in the storm of sensations that surrounded her and blinded her to everything but fulfilling her immediate desires. It was marvelous to feel the Elfking's body against her own through the silky shift as she pressed against him. And it was also wonderful how his fingers felt as they stroked her back through the thin covering of slippery fabric, which was all that remained between his hands and her skin.

At one point he felt along her spine all the way down to her waist and a little lower, with just the tips of his fingers, sending shivers from her head to her toes and she thought she would never draw breath again. This was probably when the rest of her gown fell off, but neither of them cared.

More than anything, she wanted the Elfking's extraordinary hands to move everywhere else on her body and soon. However, it was too wonderful to be smashed up tight against him while they kissed. She could not part from him long enough to allow him to touch her in any place that he could not currently reach.

His hand moved down to her hip and then over her backside, and he cupped one of her bottom cheeks, which made her gasp. His thrilling touch was too much of a distraction that she did not even register the fact that the skirt of her gown was no longer there between his stroking hand and the silken undershift.

The Elfking dipped down slightly at the knees in order to reach beneath her better and he moved his hand from her bottom to just under her thigh. After sliding his hand down to the back of her knee, he lifted her leg up to hook it over his hip and then stood straight again as he held her like that against him. Again she gasped as he pressed himself there, in between her legs, with a mysterious hardness that dwelt beneath his leggings.

The fascinating pressure was satisfying and stimulating at the same time, and in response she wrapped her lifted leg around him in an effort to draw him closer, which was not possible but she tried to anyway.

The interesting new contact muddled her mind thoroughly and she had no idea where she was or much of anything else, let alone what had happened to her dress at this point, although she could vaguely discern the feeling that her other foot, the one still standing on the floor stretched on tip-toe, was swaddled in fabric. It did not make an impression in her mind, and at that moment it certainly did not seem to be the Elfking's chief concern either.

Thranduil made a sound in his throat like a growl or a groan, and he lifted her up from the floor with his hand beneath her thigh. But in his effort to transport her from the dressing room and into the bedchamber, his foot was tangled up and caught in the fallen dress and the discarded nightgown. He tripped and they both nearly toppled over to the flagstone floor.

Luckily, the Elfking was not a clumsy mortal, and he swiftly regained his balance, but he did have to set Cella back down to stand flat on both of her feet for a moment. She was more than willing to fall to the floor with him, and stay right where they were, if only he would remove some of his clothes first.

Now that there was enough room between them for a split second, Cella took the opportunity to reach up under his tunic, before she glued herself to him again and kissed him some more. Her hand traveled over smooth, warm skin that was stretched taut over firm muscles, and she marveled at the way he felt under her admiring fingertips.

But she wanted him to press himself against her some more, too, in that interesting new way he had discovered, and she tried to reach her leg up around his hip again. He broke away from her mouth and grinned down at her lustily.

"You are making it difficult to move," he said, his voice hoarse. He lifted her again, but this time with his arms under both of her legs after the hazardous garments on the floor were safely booted out of the way. She had pulled her hand out from under his tunic and was trying to figure out how to pull it off of him with her free hand while she kicked off her shoes and sent them flying where ever they had a mind to go. "You have no patience, firiel" he told her.

"Neither do you, Majesty," she giggled after he nearly threw her down on the bedcovers. He stood for a moment beside the bed and she lifted herself up on her elbows to watch him pull his tunic over his head, revealing creamy skin that was burnished by the firelight's warm red glow. His hair was a river of shimmering copper as he lowered himself onto the bed next to her, and it caressed her face and chest as he kissed her again, and again, barely pausing long enough to allow her to draw breath.

His mouth moved away from her lips, and over her neck and down her chest, but slowly, oh so slowly, and she felt her body tremble with anticipation as he did so. And then he pulled the strap of her shift off of her arm, down her side, and revealed one of her breasts.

Cella bit her lip to keep from crying out as his warm tongue lapped at the tingling flesh thus exposed, and she nearly felt afraid of the waves of pleasure that rippled through her as he did so, like gales of wind they buffeted her internally. He pulled away from her.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, never!" she told him while she tried to pull his face back to her chest, but instead he resisted her and lifted himself up to kiss her again. As he ravaged her lips, his hand moved over the place so recently abandoned by his mouth, and she arched her back to lift her body to his caresses.

She could not get enough of touching him and she wanted to touch every part of him. Frustrated by the interruption of his suede leggings under her exploring hands at his lower back, she asked him to remove them, and to hurry.

"Dartho (wait)," he told her, holding her hand still after she had tried to insinuate it between their bodies to unlace the offensive garment that still stood in her way. Before she could stop him, he left the bed and crossed the room to the door. She sat up, her head spinning, and just as she was going to cry out in anguish for him to come back, he lifted the latch and locked the rest of the palace away. Now no one could come in and interrupt them.

He came back, to her relief, and sat on the edge of the bed. But instead of falling into her outstretched arms, he faced away from her and bent over so that his hair covered his face, and she could not see why.

"What are you doing?" she asked, anxious for him to return to her.

"Removing my boots," he answered with a chuckle.

"Leave them on," she whimpered. "I don't care." She sat up to wrap her arms around his back while peeking up over his shoulder to observe. However, before she could even focus farther than how delicious his hair smelled and how nice it felt against her cheek, he was finished. Her undershift was pulled down to her waist and his hand found her breasts again after he turned to kiss her.

Together they fell over onto the blankets. Cella lifted her hips so that he could pull the interfering shift free from where it was bunched around her waist, and he had to release himself from her arms and sit up in order to pull it off of her legs. Next came her stockings, and he seemed to have fun removing them, like she was a doll to play with. She enjoyed being naked with him, and did not feel shy at all.

"Lay still," he whispered. "Let me look at you." She sighed contentedly after he guided her to lie with her head on the pillows and then sat next to her. It was not hard to tell that he was enjoying the way she looked as she stretched out on the bed before his eyes, and the way his gaze touched her was almost as tangible as his fingers.

His hand soon followed the trail that his eyes took and his fingers moved from her knees up to her thighs and over her tummy where they paused. She squirmed with impatience until he bent to kiss her again, and she kept still.

There was a burning ache between her legs that she wanted him to do something about, but he moved his hand away from her belly and up to her chest instead. Lightly his fingers grazed over the tingling surface of her overheated flesh while she sucked in her breath with a long hiss of delight.

But then he moved his hand away from there and stroked her arm from her shoulder down to her fingers. He lifted her hand again and pressed his lips against her palm.

"Sire, please." Cella felt on fire and she tried to pull his hand back to her body but he resisted her.

"You are almost ready, have patience," he told her. He bent again, but this time he pressed his mouth on her belly below her navel, and he licked her there. As his tongue traveled lower Cella began to shake again as he drew nearer to that tingling ache between her legs.

"Yes," she hissed with satisfaction as his mouth covered her there. She almost could not stand the riveting sensations he caused her to feel and yet she lifted her hips for more. Thoroughly agitated, she mewled with vexation when he drew away from her; his silky hair tickled her thighs for a moment, until he lifted himself over her again and kissed her.

His legs against hers were bare, even though she did not know how or when he had removed his leggings. But the way his skin felt against hers as he shifted himself to stretch out next to her was lovelier than her most wild, but otherwise limited, imaginings had come near to being.

And then she was aware of something rubbing against her thigh, it was that hardness again, which had been previously hidden beneath the Elfking's leggings. She was curious and yet suddenly hesitant about learning more about it. She was not afraid, but she was not feeling very brave all of a sudden. As if sensing her doubt, he broke away from kissing her and looked down at her silently.

"Estelio nin," he said.

"Always," she answered. He had never given her a reason not to trust him.

"I will never hurt you," he added.

"I know," she sighed.

Gently Thranduil captured her hands and, holding them at the wrist, lifted them over her head and kept them there while he kissed her. After shifting his body across her in order to bear his weight on his opposite side, his other hand was free to travel back down between her legs.

The touch of his caressing fingers was barely perceptible at first, but soon the same excitement his tongue had aroused just moments before returned. She thought about that rigid member of warm flesh that lay flat against her belly now. At last she was beginning to realize what was going to happen to her and she felt curious again.

But her thoughts were superseded by another sensation, a slightly discomforting and almost too intimate touch. She whimpered a little and involuntarily shifted her hips to escape it, but the Elfking was insistent, and she surrendered. He let go of her wrists and she wrapped her hands in his hair as his fingers moved below. There was a moment of almost burning irritation, but the pain faded quickly.

"That will make it easier," he explained after he withdrew his hand. She did not know what he meant, but she trusted him. He was on top of her again, kissing her, while he nudged her legs farther apart and settled his own between them. And she was on fire to please him, and to bring him as much pleasure as he gave her.

She lifted herself on her elbows one more time, to see what was happening below. And to get a peek at what he had in store for her. Cella had only seen a fully engorged manhood once before, but she had been terrified and disgusted at that time. Now she was not either. Without a doubt, she wanted the Elfking, all of him, and right now.

Instinctively she opened her thighs wider as he guided himself to press up against that heated center of her womanhood and then held himself there, as if waiting for a signal from her. Gladly, she collapsed back down to lie flat and tipped her hips up to assist him.

While holding himself up on one forearm in order to watch her face, Thranduil entered her slowly, inch by inch. He moved in such a way that Cella could gradually adjust inside to this welcome invasion of her body. His eyes never left her face as he gauged her reaction to losing her innocence.

As the Elfking gently eased himself within her, he uttered words that she did not understand, but she felt comforted and reassured by the tenderness in his voice as he spoke them. He stroked the damp hair away from her forehead and rained her face with tiny kisses as their bodies were sealed together as one.

At first, unsure of what was required from her as he began to move within her, Cella remained limp and still until the rhythm Thranduil established brought back the tingling pleasure and heat. Their moans of mutual gratification mingled together as she lifted herself at the hips to meet each thrust and she enjoyed each thunderously sensational collision of his body against her again, and again.

Lowering himself to her, he slid his hand beneath her head, wrapped his fingers in her hair, and lifted her face closer to his. His glowing eyes seemed to bore as deeply into her soul as that other part of him was buried in her flesh. Savagely, he kissed her and she responded back, unafraid. The mounting waves of rippling heat coalesced where they were physically joined and the urgent nature of their coupling reached a climax of explosive and coinciding release.

Afterwards, they lay together face to face and Thranduil stroked Cella's back until her head cleared. As soon as she could think clearly, she felt embarrassed at how loudly she had shrieked in the final throes of their passionate coupling. She hoped she did not hurt his beautiful ears, which she was sure must be more sensitive to the ghastly noises she made than her own were.

But without her having to say a word about it, he told her not to worry about his ears, as her voice was always pleasing to him, no matter how expressively she used it. She smiled at him and touched his face, to make sure he was real, and that he was truly there, in her bed.

And now Thranduil's hand traveled up her back to the nape of her neck, and he gently guided her head to rest in the space between his neck and shoulder. She nestled her face against the satin-textured skin there while he tenderly cradled her in his arms.

In his embrace, she closed her eyes and felt as if she was floating in the same clouds she had found herself in after he had healed her in the past, and her whole body hummed with joy. Waves of drowsiness swept over her in much the same way the rippling waves of pleasure had done earlier, and were just as difficult to resist. But she did, pulling out of his arms and sitting up beside him, she looked down at the Elfking groggily.

"I don't want to go to sleep," she said and then yawned. She barely could react quickly enough to cover her mouth with her hand. It seemed hopeless. Outside of the great gates of Mirkwood the hour must have been near dawn, and despite her nap the day before, she was only a mortal after all and could not go on forever without rest.

Even if she had done nothing more exerting than dance at the feast and walk in the cold fresh air after that, her body would have felt exhausted by this time. The lusty play with Thranduil had weakened her in a new way, a wonderful way, but she did not want to miss a moment alone with him, and she tried to ignore the urge to melt back into his warm and inviting embrace. It took all of her strength to stay alert.

But if she had clung to him earlier as if she were drowning and he was a rock in a stormy sea, she was now as curious about exploring him as the grateful swimmer would have been if washed ashore on an island in the middle of wide uncharted waters.

He lay silent and did not try to make her lie down again while she examined his body from head to toe. Even though the fire had died down to only a few glowing embers, the light that his skin seemed to always radiate was more than sufficient for her to see him with. And was more beautiful than any other illumination.

She devoured him as if her eyes were capable of feeling hunger and he was a feast spread out before them. Her hands had to touch his skin on his shoulders, his chest and over his ribs and abdomen, and then she had to know what his feet felt like, as well as his ankles, shins, and thighs.

And there was that most private part of him, which she now knew more intimately than any other part. It was soft now, and she lifted it and held it in her hand, amazed at how different it was in appearance than before.

As if her touch was magical she felt him stiffen immediately beneath her fingers, with a series of pulsing throbs. This curious phenomenon was accompanied by some interesting sounds, like grunts or soft whiffing growls, which Thranduil emitted as she squeezed him there to encourage the situation.

He growled again, a distinctly ferocious sound, and with lightning like swiftness she was pulled over on top of him and he was inside of her before she knew what he was doing. This time there was no discomfort and no slow careful motion as they vigorously enjoyed each other's bodies in the renewed joining.

She loved being above him so that his hands could caress her breasts better. He lowered his head and pulled her body closer in order to replace his stroking fingers with his hot and hungry mouth instead.

At last Cella felt she would explode with ecstasy and she clasped the back of his head while she held on to him for dear life as if she was astride a bucking horse. They barely escaped falling off the bed and onto the hard floor. Not that either of them would have cared.

Afterwards, at some point, Cella fell asleep, although it would be more truthful to say she lost consciousness. If she had a moment between wakefulness and dreamless slumber, she did not recall one. But her head snapped up off of the Elfking's chest when a loud banging sound crashed into the lovely peace and quiet in her bedchamber, and only then did she realize that she must have been sleeping.

"What?" she mumbled drowsily as he slid her off of him and under the covers. "Where are you going?" she murmured as the soft pillow replaced his hard chest. "Don't leave," she whispered as she resisted drifting away on her clouds. She felt his lips on her cheek, but although she tried as hard as she could, she was incapable of rousing herself to delay or stop him.

"I will be back," she heard him say, and it was enough. The banging was there again, but it made no sense within the logic in her dream, and Thranduil was there to take care of it, so she ignored the sound and drifted all the way down into sleep.

t b c

While Cella sleeps peacefully, this is a good time to announce there will be no more updates until after Christmas! Have a very merry one, too!


	35. Chapter 35?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 35

The Elfking was good at his word and he did come back to Cella, but only for a brief time. At least that was what she could recall later when she was fully awake.

It was hard to say exactly when Thranduil returned to her bed after slipping out from under her when the banging noise woke her the first time. It might have been minutes or hours. Cella had been in deep dreamless sleep while he was gone, or so it seemed, and could not waken all the way when he returned.

She only knew that he had taken her up into his arms to cradle her gently while he stroked her hair for a few moments before he left her alone again. When he did so, she could feel that he was dressed, which made her sad because she knew he would not get back under the covers with her anymore.

He had told her that he had to leave the halls and ride out into forest, and that she needed to go back to sleep. Before she drifted back completely she heard him repeat to her something he had said earlier.

"Gil dhannen dithen nín," he whispered, and then he was gone again.

But when Cella awoke fully, much later, it took her some time to remember where she was and what had happened to her during the long passionate night with Thranduil. It was only after she remembered that the Elfking had returned to her, while she was still asleep, and had roused her briefly, that she could recall any thing else. And then all the rest returned to her in a rush.

She lay absolutely motionless, clutching the covers with her fists, as she absorbed the full impact of reliving the events that had taken place in this very bed. And then she lifted her head up and looked about her as if she expected the world to be changed from the way she had felt everything rock beneath her. But nothing around her was disturbed by that shocking inner tremor of realization. Her heart pounded and her mind raced in a dazed panic. What had she done? What was going to happen to her now?

After a few moments her mind quieted. She reminded herself that she was in her own bed, in her bedchamber, which was in the Elfking's halls, and there was no safer place to be. And she was a woman now, in every sense of the word. It was unexpectedly calming to realize that she was no longer ignorant about the mystery of what lay on the other side of her all-consuming desire to lose her innocence. She knew.

Startled by a burst of laughter that seemed to erupt out of her chest unasked for, Cella covered her mouth with her hand. Somehow, Milda and Ingarde came to her mind, and what they would think or say about what had happened between her and the Elfking made her laugh even harder.

And as she touched her face, she wondered if she looked different. There were mirrors in the dressing-room. She had always had a superstitious dread of mirrors, although she had not been exposed to very many of them in her life. She did not like looking at herself in one, and had avoided it so far while she was here. If she could get up the nerve to go look at herself in one of them... at least she knew where to find them.

As soon as Cella's thoughts led her back into the dressing-room she could not help but remember what took place within it with the Elfking, and what anyone who looked around in there would find. Her dress, the nightgown, and her shoes would be tossed around on the floor and she felt a little embarrassed about it.

She was naked, too, and that was discomfiting to discover as there was no garment within view to cover her so that she could get out of bed to tidy up the other room before any one else saw it. And she could not imagine what it would be like to see herself nude in one of those mirrors.

What had happened to her undershift? Not that she wanted to put on the well-worn garment again for one more minute longer than necessary. But she figured it had to be close by. She sat up all the way straight and looked around her more carefully as she thought it over. The Elfking had removed it, and her stockings, too, but she had not seen where he had put them.

In fact, just remembering when that had happened, especially when Thranduil pulled off her stockings, and what it felt like, made her feel giddy for a moment. She had to lie back down for a while before she remembered that she was supposed to be looking for something to wear.

But even then, trying as hard as she could to mentally track down the whereabouts of her shift, all she could see was the smile on the Elfking's face as he drew it off of her. She felt weak all over thinking about it and how much he had appeared to have enjoyed himself doing that, among other things. She grinned up at the ceiling and after heaving a great, happy sigh, she sat up once more to get serious about finding something to put on.

Cella tried to first straighten the disheveled blankets and linens as she searched through them, but soon gave up and just ignored their disarray. She had never risen in a bed in such a messy condition before and it was a delicious feeling.

It did not help her concentrate on finding her shift when a scent arose from the covers as she lifted and moved them around, a heady aroma that was a mixture of the Elfking and herself and their mingling. She quickly lost track of her original intentions as her head spun from breathing in the exotic perfume.

Sternly reminding herself to remain focused on finding something to wear, she crawled around the edges of the mattress, keeping herself modestly covered by wrapping one of the loosened sheets around her, while looking on the floor for her shift and stockings. She did not see them. After she had made a tour of the whole bed the linens were completely messed up in a circular shaped tangle in the center.

She sat befuddled for a moment and felt slightly annoyed with her situation. The bedchamber was lit with a couple of the torches, and the fire had been rebuilt. She smiled to herself at how good she was taken care of and felt better.

Her heart leapt when a soft knock was followed by her door being opened, but it was not Thranduil peeking around to see if she was awake, it was Lothriel. Quickly, Cella pulled the edge of the sheet up around her bare shoulders and sat very still so that it would not slip off.

"Good day to you, did you rest well?" The Elleth bore a tray and Cella was relieved to see that no helpful Elves were trailing along beside her this time. The sheet was pulled up to her chin anyway. Even if they were both females, it was uncomfortable being undressed in front of a stranger.

"Good day to you, Lothriel," she replied. "Yes, I did rest well, thank you. What time of day is it?" With no windows to guide her, Cella felt as if she were floating in a timeless world and it could be any time at all beyond the thick stone walls. It was an odd feeling, and she wondered how Uncle Dwain would cope after he came to live here, although he never needed sunlight to tell time.

But the Elleth did not appear to have heard Cella's question as she set the tray down and began spreading out breakfast on the little table near the fireplace. Lothriel seemed more detached than was usual even for an Elf, and her normal serene smile appeared strained. Was she upset about something? Maybe she was angry about Thranduil having been there? Did she know? Who else knew? Was it supposed to be a secret? Discretion was always a good idea, no matter what the situation.

"Is the weather nice today?" Cella tried again, hoping to elicit a friendly response.

"Aye, 'tis fair," replied the Elleth with an air of indifference. "Quite fair." This was not a helpful answer, Cella realized, seeing that some Elves, especially Wood-elves, consider pouring down rain to be fair weather. But it was her own fault for asking if the weather was nice or not and for not being more specific.

"The sun is up, then?" she tried. "And out?" At hearing this last question, Lothriel seemed to 'wake up' from whatever odd mood she had been in since entering the bedchamber, and she looked at Cella as if she just noticed there was a mortal in the room who could not feel through the walls of the cave to determine either the weather or the hour.

"It is a sunny day, yes, and not quite midday by the hour." The Elleth stood beside the table as if expecting Cella to get out of bed and eat something, which was reasonable. But she still seemed distracted and not quite engaged in her activities, as if she were sleepwalking and having a disturbing Elvish dream that claimed most of her attention.

"Is there something wrong?" Up to this point, Cella had tried to avoid asking her right out, in case the Elleth was upset or disapproving about the Elfking. She would probably not say anything if that was true.

"I would not say wrong," answered Lothriel after a moment's hesitation in thought. "Only unusual, perhaps, or out of the ordinary, and that is unsettling. I am sorry if my manners have been poor."

"You just look a little bit worried about something," said Cella. "I was hoping I had done nothing to offend you." This was it, if Lothriel knew anything, she would say so now.

"Offend me? Oh, my dear, no, you are a welcome interruption." The Elleth shook her head and then smiled with a little more warmth as she added, "Many years have passed, seasons almost beyond counting, since last I have seen a single guest within these halls, and now today we are to have more." She sighed and stared off into the distance as if searching for an answer to a puzzle in the air.

"Do you mean my uncle and the rest?" For some reason, the prospect of seeing Uncle Dwain again did not fill Cella with as much joy as she thought it should. She instantly felt guilty, but not much. All she could think of was that it would be more difficult to be alone with Thranduil once there was a chaperone in the guest chambers. But she could not understand why this news would be unsettling to the Elleth all of a sudden; it was well known that more guests would be coming.

"The party from the vineyard is not supposed to arrive until late tonight, if not on the morrow. They are coming slowly because of the wagons," explained Lothriel. "But, yes, there is that, as well." The Elleth then retreated again into her former detached state, her eyes glazing over slightly, and she glided across the floor and made her way toward the dressing-room.

And Cella was hungry, the breakfast looked delicious, but she was torn now between stopping the Elleth from seeing the untidy dressing-room and asking her to bring out something to wear so that she could get out of the bed and eat.

"Do you mean that there are other visitors coming?" Cella asked to delay the Elleth. It worked. Lothriel paused before the dressing-room door to answer.

"His Majesty did not tell you? He said that you were aware that he would not be here when you woke up." Lothriel said this as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to discuss the Elfking's bedroom conversations with him.

"All I remember is he said he had to ride into the forest, but not why, or anything about visitors." Cella felt a little awkward admitting out loud even that much about her time alone with Thranduil. But if the Elfking had discussed her with the Elleth and also what he had told her when they were in bed together, then at least that indicated he did not feel the need to keep what had happened between them a secret. Or did it?

"There was a banging sound last night, and I think now it must have been someone knocking at my door," Cella started carefully, determined to admit nothing about the bedroom intimacies she had shared with Thranduil. "And then he went out into the forest after that, but he did not say more than that to me." In her mind she tried to calculate how much time had passed since then and gave up immediately, she had no idea what the time was now, let alone what the hour was when she was with the Elfking.

"Yes, he has returned since then to fetch some food and other supplies, and has gone back to escort them the rest of the way here."

"Them?" Cella wondered if the Elleth thought that she was a mind-reader.

"Dwarves," breathed Lothriel, as if she was forced into mentioning a particularly virulent plague. Even her placid features could not fully mask the grimace of disgust that lay beneath them, wanting to emerge. "We are to have," she breathed in and exhaled slowly before continuing, "Dwarves visiting in the halls. Guest rooms are to be made ready for them." She did not appear very happy to have to announce it. But Cella felt very proud of herself for having been a witness to their initial discovery.

"That is who must have crossed the borders last night," she concluded after she told Lothriel about how she had seen the Elfking sensing someone unfamiliar within his forest. "It was those Dwarves." Cella was relieved that the raving band of Laketown vigilantes who had been creeping toward her in her mind vanished all at once into the same place where all of her bad dreams went after waking. Replaced by funny little men with beards.

Preoccupied for a moment in considering the intriguing outcome to what had been an unnerving situation, Cella did not even notice that the Elleth had left her and gone into the dressing-room. In fact, she did not realize she was gone until Lothriel emerged carrying the riding suit.

The whole while the Elleth, her previous too-quiet mood replaced by a noticeably chattier attitude, had been telling her about the party of visiting Dwarves, at least what little she had been told herself. And Cella could hear contempt in the tone of her voice as she related the facts of the matter.

They claimed to be lost, these Dwarves, and were not up to any mischief. They were searching for their ancestral landmarks on some sort of pilgrimage. They were attempting to find their ancient road and had become disoriented in the darkness, not being used to above ground exploring. The Elleth had to begrudgingly admit that the bearded earth-dwelling folk were not known for their wood-craft, and it was more likely than not that they would be instantly befuddled by a single tree in the middle of an open meadow. Let alone a whole forest.

The road they were looking for happened to be under the supervision of the Wood-elves, and was called the Forest Road, and was located many leagues north of the halls. This road had been under the jurisdiction of His Majesty since the Second Age, as the Dwarves should well know, at least according to Lothriel. She sounded excessively skeptical of their story, to Cella at least, for having so little information about it. Apparently the idea of Dwarves not knowing that they needed permission to travel in the forest was absurd to the Elves.

But Cella was looking forward to seeing Dwarves up close. She had never seen them before she and Uncle Dwain had traveled to Esgaroth and even then she had only caught a glimpse of a few of them. First there were a couple of them trudging along together, with their heads down, beside the road as they drove past in the cart. Neither of them had glanced upward, and Cella had not turned back to look at them for fear they would think her rude.

After that she had seen another one who was emerging from the Laketown inn where she and her uncle had eaten lunch on the first day they were there. Again, she was too polite to stare, so she only saw him pass by her out of the corner of her eye. He had touched the edge of his cap in greeting, but remained silent. His beard was so long it nearly swept the floor. His head barely reached her shoulder even with the cap.

Her uncle had promised her that she would see many Dwarves once they reached the Long Lake, but so far she had not seen any more than those few. They were not wine-drinking people, and they made their own ale to drink, which kept them from the vineyards. The hills around the inland sea were not rich in mineral ores or jewels, only topsoil for growing good green things, and they were not dug into for profit.

Even though she had only those brief encounters with the Dwarves, Cella thought that the short, stout, hairy men were odd but interesting. They seemed gentlemanly enough. She did not understand the Elleth's annoyance toward the prospect of meeting some of them.

Nonetheless, one thing was clear; Lothriel was not upset about the Elfking and Cella, if she even considered them at all. As she laid out the riding suit across the foot of the bed, and returned to the dressing room, she talked more to herself than to Cella about wishing His Excellency, the seneschal, were there to supervise the necessary arrangements as she was at her wits end with trying to prepare adequate accommodations for the 'stunted folk', as she called them. And it was not used as an endearment.

And with that said, she placed the undergarments she carried on top of the bed and bade Cella to enjoy her breakfast, and then she left the bedchamber. Off to make ready to receive Dwarf guests with as much enthusiasm as if she was being asked to handle toads.

For a few moments after Lothriel left, Cella sat bemused. Her breakfast was growing cold and she was very hungry, but the Elleth had given her much food for thought and she found she could not move in any direction until she processed the news. Dwarves were coming to visit, and her uncle would be there tonight, or in the morning tomorrow.

And then there was the matter of the riding suit, and why was it put on her bed? From the way the Elleth had entered and departed the dressing-room, without seeming to be concerned with any clothing left strewn about the place, Cella guessed that Thranduil must have cleaned up the area before he left. Either that or Lothriel was so distracted by the idea of preparing lodging fit for Dwarves that she had not noticed the floor at all.

But if all she had left in her wardrobe to wear was the riding suit, then she wondered what happened to her other clothes. Had the Elleth tromped over the top of them in her daze?

Once alone, Cella could do more than rub her eyes as she tried to decide which would be the better course of action. Should she put on the riding suit to eat her breakfast, or keep the sheet she had wrapped around herself on, for fear of spilling anything on the rich glittering garment? The door opened again, and Lothriel was back.

"You have not eaten, Celiel? Are you not hungry?" The agitated Elleth looked as if she had just been added a new problem to an already problem-filled day. "Your bath is ready; it may grow cold if you wait much longer." Before Cella could reply, Lothriel was already in the dressing-room again and then back out with the bathrobe.

"Maybe I could eat in the bathroom?" The idea of a bath jumped ahead of all other concerns, but Cella was hungry. "We could put the tray on the ledge?" She used her hands to describe the area she meant and the Elleth's tinkling laugh was a relief to hear.

"His Majesty said you would be hungry," said Lothriel, smiling now as pleasantly as she did the day before.

"Did he say I would be as hungry as a hobbit?" Cella guessed.

"Why yes, he did say so," replied Lothriel, almost seeming surprised to hear Thranduil's very words. With a last chuckle at the idea of eating while bathing, the Elleth put Cella's breakfast back on the tray and carried it to the bathing room.

With the bathrobe on, Cella followed eagerly, and was soon emerged in the luxuriously hot water while trying to keep her hands dry enough to eat with. She asked Lothriel to stay with her for a while, if she could spare the time, and tell her more about the Dwarves and their ancient road.

From the Elleth's unhappy attitude toward their unexpected appearance in the forest, Cella assumed that relations between the two races were strained, and she did not inquire into the reasons behind the animosity. But Thaladir had not told her anything about Dwarves and Mirkwood during his history lesson beyond their presence at the Battle of the Five Armies, which she had been led to believe was negligible.

She recalled that when Thranduil told her the tale about the hobbit, Bilbo, he had not referred to the Dwarf prisoners with much affection in his voice, either. Although she believed he was not happy with having to admit to being foiled by members of two races who were vastly inferior to his own mighty lineage. At least that is how she took it from the way he spoke about them.

And Lothriel seemed almost grateful for the invitation to sit beside the bath and talk; apparently Cella's wishes took precedence over providing Dwarf accommodations. Until the water grew too chilly to sit in comfortably, they talked about the history of the Great Greenwood, before the Wood-elves came to live in the caves.

t b c


	36. Chapter 36?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 36

Eating breakfast while bathing turned out to be a wonderful way to start her day, Cella decided. The cleansing steaming water was just what she needed to feel as fresh on the outside as she did on the inside, and the meal she was served was delicious.

She felt like a different person and she saw every single thing that came into her view, including her own body, from a new perspective. I am a woman now, she kept telling herself, and I am seeing the world through the eyes of a woman.

It was almost as if she had a new set of senses to feel the water and taste her food with, or her previous way of sensing had been heightened, possibly, now that she was a woman. This was more than mere happiness; this was a new way of being.

Added to that new awareness was an inner melody that hummed through her constantly, or maybe it was more of a tingling that coursed through her nerves uninterrupted? Or maybe what she felt was just a natural side effect of spending her night in the arms of the magical Elfking? It did not matter; she enjoyed the pleasant interior harmony just the same.

And she discovered that a simple thing like taking her robe off in front of Lothriel was not as difficult as it would have been the day before, even though the Elleth turned her head politely. They were busy talking when Cella disrobed, and it was not until she stepped into the water that she noticed that she had not felt embarrassed to be unclothed while in the same room with another person.

Not for the first time did she wonder if her face looked different, too, although Lothriel's manner did not seem to indicate that she noticed anything unusual about her appearance. However, that did not mean much as it was a rare Elf that ever displayed their feelings unless it was in an extreme situation. But Cella was starting to distinguish the subtle changes that even the most subdued of the Fair Folk's features displayed when they were in distress, or very happy.

Today she enjoyed the Elleth's company very much, finding that now that she was in a more talkative mood she was also very informative. Cella was very curious about the Dwarves who were coming to the caves and what they might have been doing to get themselves lost in the Elfking's forest.

Lothriel sat next to Cella as she bathed and explained the existence of the ancient Men-i-Naugrim (Dwarf Road) that she had mentioned earlier. It ran straight through the Elfking's forest and was originally built by the Anfangrim (Longbeards), as the Elleth termed those particular Dwarves. "Durin's folk," she added, as if that would make the term even clearer to the mortal.

She told Cella first about how, long before the first King, Oropher, and his son Thranduil had crossed the Misty Mountains and entered the forest, the Wood-elves shared the Rhovanion forestland with the bearded folk.

At that time, the Elves were living without a leader in the very southern edge of the Great Greenwood. They mostly lived in the area of the forest directly across the Anduin River from their kinfolk, the Galadhrim, in the Golden Wood that they called Lothlorien. Cella was quickly lost in the tangle of foreign terms, unfamiliar place names, and elvish words, but she enjoyed the Elleth's tale nonetheless.

In the far north of the woodland, but still within the forest, there lies a mountain range which was once called the Emyn Duir Dark Mountains and just below those mountains the Dwarves had built their ancient road. For an age, that northern area was the exclusive domain of the thrawn folk, as Lothriel also called them, there seemed to be many names for them in the Elven tongue, and they had built that road for traveling between their mines in the Iron Hills and their great city within the Misty Mountains.

"Moria," pronounced Lothriel gloomily, and even Cella had heard old tales of the great goblin cave in the far-off mountains, when she was a child. Access to the river Anduin at the road's westernmost end lay almost exactly halfway between the ancient Dwarvish meeting-place at Gundabad to the north, and Durin's former mansions in Moria to the south. But that road had been long since abandoned by them when the Elves moved there.

As the tale unfolded, Cella began to get a glimmer of an idea why the Elleth sounded contemptuous of the Dwarves. It seemed that all they were interested in, at least from what Lothriel said, was what lay below the surface of the earth's skin, and not the light of the stars in the sky, or the beauty of the trees in the forest and the welfare of the creatures that dwelt among them.

"When they traveled on their road through the woodland," said Lothriel, "they always kept their heads down, to avoid seeing the beauty of the trees." And Cella recalled the Dwarves she had seen trudging beside the road to Laketown who marched along in that same fashion.

And after the Elves had begun migrating northward, a family of Dwarves, who still frequently traveled the old road, had befriended them and had even guided them about in their new surroundings.

Eventually, these Dwarves had also offered their services to Thranduil, not long after he had settled his subjects between the two rivers in an effort to escape the creeping darkness from Amon Lanc, and they had built most of his cavern stronghold for him.

They had never completed the construction as they had promised. However, by the time they left the caves, and Lothriel did not explain why they went away and did not finish, the Elves had learned enough stonecraft from them to finish the job in their stead.

While she listened to the story of the Elves and their dealings with the Dwarves, Cella loved it that she was learning more of the history of her new home. Now some of the pictures she had seen on the tapestries in the corridors began to make more sense to her. Some depicted the Wood-elves in tall fir trees, few of which Cella had seen during her ride among the beech tree lined road from the vineyard. And the reason for the difference in the way the caves were designed in some areas compared to others was coming clear.

She was not much closer to understanding the underlying animosity between the two groups besides the way they dealt with nature, but she gathered from Lothriel's telling of the story that there was never much affection shared between these particular races, even before the caves were built. However she was not worried about the Dwarves doing her, or her new home, any harm.

After eating her breakfast while bathing, and listening to Lothriel's tales about the history of Mirkwood before the Elves moved into the caves, Cella felt ready to go back to bed and sleep some more. The warm water and the good food, and learning more of the history of her beloved Elfking's realm, were almost too relaxing when what she needed was to wake up fully.

When it was time for Cella to get out of the bath, Lothriel left her alone to dry herself and put the robe back on. The Elleth returned with the riding suit and a pair of calf-high boots that were new.

"Legolas insisted that you be properly booted for your ride today," Lothriel explained as she sat to brush Cella's hair.

Until it was mentioned, Cella had forgotten her promise to go riding with the Elfprince today, and now the riding suit made more sense. The fresh air would wake her up, too, she figured, and she did anticipate being outdoors if the day was sunny. But she worried a little about seeing Legolas this soon.

She could not help but recall how he had practically trapped the Elfking into being alone with her in the little dressing-room the night before. Would he mention that to her today, she wondered? What else did he know?

But her troubled thoughts of the merry younger Elf were easily erased by the memory of his father when the events of the night and early morning, which had never completely left her thoughts throughout the bath and the story of the Dwarves, were moved once again to the front of her mind in full force. Thinking about the Elfking made her melt inside, and what little distress she had felt over seeing his son disappeared.

'Gil dhannen dithen nín,' was the last thing that Thranduil had said to her. She thought she knew what the words meant, something about stars, although she was not exactly sure, and their translation was not at all crucial. The way he had spoken them to her was like a caress to her soul. She thought about asking the Elleth, except that she was not willing yet to reveal any more than was necessary about what had taken place in her bed with the Elfking.

Even if every Elf in the realm was aware of what had happened, and she did not let that idea sink in all the way or she would have never left her bed to show her face in the first place, she was determined to remain silent until she knew how His Majesty was going to treat her now. Her biggest fear was that he would revert to his formal forbidding attitude and retreat back behind the wall he claimed she had broken through.

Soon enough she was dressed and properly shod, with her hair braided back from her face in a single plait, and ready to ride. According to Lothriel, it would be afternoon before the monarch and his guests would get there, meaning there would be plenty of time to have a pleasant jaunt through the forest.

"Ah now, look who has finally managed to rise from her mortal slumber to greet the new day," said Legolas. He was standing in the large reception hall, and there was no way of knowing how long he had been there. With a graceful bow, he gestured her through the door and out into the corridor.

"I am sorry if I made you wait very long," said Cella, although it was hard to feel very regretful. She had so loved hearing about the Dwarves and the Elves from Lothriel, that she felt she had not slothfully wasted her time at her bath, at least. She found the history lesson valuable. And as far as her sleeping late was concerned, she was a mortal, as he said.

"It was well worth it," replied Legolas as he walked beside her, his lips upturned in an approving smile. He craned his neck behind her and seemed to be examining her back. Cella wondered what he was up to until he lifted her braid and then she grinned at his question, "How is your neck? I hope that my father did not leave any visible teeth marks."

"Your father did not have to use his teeth." Cella braced herself for further teasing, but he did not pursue the subject. Before she even realized it they were entering into an unfamiliar hall, the largest one she had seen or been in since she had arrived. So certain she was that he would say something to make her blush, she had not paid attention until they were walking across the floor. She slowed her step and looked about her in awe and puzzlement.

Immediately Cella could tell that this was an important public gathering area by the rows of benches that lined the cavernous room six rows deep on three sides, and still there was what felt like a half-acre of open space, broken up only by the distinctively Elf-carved pillars, in front of a raised platform with a large chair on top of it. The oversized seat was made of dark wood and was carved all over in much the same way as the royal bed was decorated back at the vineyard.

This was the Elfking's throne, she realized. They were in his throne room. It was, like him, magnificent, and made his great meeting hall back at the vineyard seem parlor-sized by comparison.

"I want to show you something," explained Legolas. "I think you will enjoy seeing it."

The stone walls were hidden behind layers of torch lit wall hangings including variously colored banners, some with the crests of the various Elflord families who were part of the royal house, and some without that were just for show. There were enormous embroidered tapestries also, and it was toward one of these, flanked by its own torches, that the Elfprince led her.

The sight of it from across the room sent a thrill through her, and for a moment she thought she saw the Elfking sitting there with them, silent. An embroidered picture that was a life-sized one of Thranduil on the same throne that sat within this room, but instead of being on the dais within the caves, the throne was out of doors in a clearing surrounded by the familiar beech trees.

On his head he had on what appeared to be the same crown of autumn-colored leaves and bright red berries that he wore to the feast the night before and he held a staff in his hand. She resisted stroking the intricately detailed needlework; it may appear that she was interested in more than merely inspecting the handiwork.

A younger, smaller Legolas stood next to the Elfking in the tapestry wearing the same riding suit that she was wearing now, only with the addition of a cape over his shoulders. Cella gasped to see the outfit on him in front of her in perfect proportion. He stood not much taller than she did now during what appeared to be an important ceremony being depicted.

"My father's 'Aranor'," Legolas told her and explained how it was much like a coronation ceremony would be for a human king. It was the day that Thranduil officially became the new King of the Wood-elves, when he took his father's staff and seat. "It was held outdoors, because the Dwarves were not finished with this part of the palace yet."

And in the background, among the various Elven dignitaries depicted, were a small group of Dwarves. Cella had noticed them right away, now that she had learned so much about them, and she wondered if the Elfprince felt as annoyed by the news of their impending arrival as Lothriel was. She peeked up at him to see if she could tell.

"I suppose you have heard about our unexpected naugrim (stunted folk) guests from Lothriel," he asked, as if reading her thoughts the way Thranduil often did. "She has had a long face all day because of it," he added a bit apologetically.

"Does she have to take care of both me and them?" It did not seem fair to burden the slender Elleth with that much responsibility.

"Yes, you see, Lothriel is one of the few here who can speak Westron, which we have been told that a couple of the Dwarves can speak as well. Only old Thaladir is capable of understanding their tongue, Khuzdul, and he will not be back before they arrive, which I am sure will distress him to no end." From the way he grinned, Cella believed he was pleased to think of the seneschal being bothered.

"Plus," he added, "Lothriel is the only one of us left in the caves that have actually dwelt in an area that was regularly visited by Dwarves, so that makes her the resident household expert, until the rest of the staff from the vineyard arrive home." From what Cella had observed, the Elleth's knowledge was stretched to its limit as it was.

It turned out that most of the Wood-elves who had followed Thranduil to the vineyard, and stayed, were also veterans of the first campaign to the Laketown, when they went to find the Dwarves who had escaped with the help of the hobbit and ended up engaged in the Battle of the Five Armies.

Those Elves that were the most likely to feel comfortable in the treeless region, and least likely to be offended by the sight of other races, including Dwarves, were highly valuable in the vineyard, and much missed at home for this unlooked for occasion. Legolas explained this to her as they went out into the brilliant day and found their horses waiting for them.

Seeing Hwiniel, the bay mare that she had been given to ride on her way there, was like seeing an old friend. Cella was surprised to find that the Elves had either found, or made for her, a regular saddle with a bridle, reins, and jingling stirrups.

The gentle horse stood quietly, swishing its tail now and then, while Legolas helped Cella mount and then adjusted everything to fit her properly. This mainly involved the stirrups, which she could only reach with the tips of her toes when she first tried. It was a great improvement to her feeling of security once she had the more familiar-feeling reins in her hands.

The Elfprince's horse, a lovely dappled gray stallion, was not as large as his father's, or as feisty, but was similarly unsaddled. They rode across the bridge over the swiftly flowing river and Legolas led her off of the road and directly into the trees.

A tiny path, allowing only one horse at a time, took them away from the caves for some distance under the colorful beech trees, whose leaves were falling and leaving a rusty-golden carpet that whispered softly beneath the delicately placed horse hooves.

"I think all of the animals are hiding from me," Cella observed after she spotted what she thought might have been the tip of a squirrel's-tail disappearing up into a tree. Except for birds chirping in the underbrush, the forest had been devoid of either sight or sound of any living creatures besides their horses.

"Well then, we will have to lure them into view," replied Legolas confidently. "This is no time for hiding; they have too much work to do gathering their food for winter." He began to sing, and at first Cella strained to hear and understand the words but quickly realized that he was not singing in any tongue she recognized. It may have been Elvish, but a nonsensical form of it, or perhaps it was the language of the animals that he was luring, translated into his tongue.

Whatever it was, it was working, and soon Cella was treated to the sight of many of the same animals she had seen carved in wood on the shelves in the Elfking's den. The birds were the first to show up, flitting overhead, while continuing their merry chirping. Then Legolas pointed out a bright-eyed squirrel, its thick winter coat was an unusual glossy-black, as it chattered down at them from the branches of the beech-trees while twitching its brushy tail.

A red fox dashed along beside them before diving back into a hole in the underbrush, and a couple of more squirrels chased each other around the trunk of a tree to Cella's delight. Soon she needed no help in spotting any new creature that had been attracted by the Elvish song.

"Ah-ha!" exclaimed the Elfprince. He halted his horse and looked back over his shoulder into he distance behind her. "I think I detect the presence of a most unique species, we may have to sneak up on it though, for only very rarely can they be spotted unaware." He brought his horse back around hers and led her back for a while the way they had come before taking another path that branched off of the first.

Enough of the afternoon sun shone through the trees that had lost leaves to show that they were moving farther away from the direction of the caves, and Cella was eagerly curious about the rare animal she might be fortunate to see, if they were wary enough in their approach to it.

Through the trees she could just see that the straight line of road was not too far away, and in a small clearing not far from it they dismounted. From there the Elfprince led her by hand, after pressing a finger to his lips to indicate the need for silence. After he had situated the two of them behind a large beech that sat next to the road, he slowly and carefully peered out from behind it and then gestured for her to do the same, which she did as cautiously as he had.

At first she saw nothing in front of her beside the road stretching straight away into the distance within its tunnel, its surface now a carpet of fallen beech leaves, and the trees that grew beside it. She had expected to see some furry creature, a bear perhaps, or something she had never seen before, and she was mightily puzzled.

"Look ahead, down the road," Legolas whispered and when she raised her eyes, she had to cover her mouth to keep from making a noise. There were riders approaching, and at their lead, still tiny in the distance, but still recognizable to her, was the Elfking. "Try not to giggle," warned the Elfprince after she drew back behind the tree to remain hidden from sight with him.

t b c

A/N: The term Aranor was invented by my Beta, Malinorne, and is based on the terms Aran King and aur day.

For further information on Sindarin please visit:

http:w w Go to "Workbook" in the "Languages" section.


	37. Chapter 37?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 37

All around Cella, it felt as if the forest was holding its breath. The chirping birds and the soft rustling of the autumn leaves were suddenly hushed. Did Thranduil command that his realm fall silent as he approached the caves? Or did the woodland always pause like this when he passed by, to honor him?

But then she recalled that the day she had ridden beside him through this forest on this same road, the same watchful silence did not happen. This hush must be due to the arrival of the Dwarves. Even the forest must feel as suspicious of them as Lothriel did. There was no sense of menace in the air, it was more a sensation of alert vigilance on the part of every living thing.

Cella wondered if the Elfking would be surprised to find that she and his son were hiding from him beside the road. And were they going to jump out from behind the tree to greet him? It was hard not to feel excited, but she managed not to giggle.

Of course, she also remembered how when she had arrived, the Elfking had known that his son was concealed from view high up in a tree. It might have been this very one that they were standing beside.

Naturally, it was possible that, on that day she arrived, Legolas had made some sort of noise that was too delicate for her to have heard, or was visible only to eyes better fashioned for seeing Elves with, either of which would explain how his father could tell he was there. She looked up into the branch above her while they waited and was convinced that it was the same one the Elfprince had sat on, when he had first said hello to her.

"There is not enough time for climbing." Legolas's voice next to her ear was so quiet that it almost seemed to come from inside of her, but she nodded in agreement. There was not enough time for her, anyway, to try doing anything like that. She had no doubt that the Elfprince could be to the top of the tree in a blink of an eye. However, she had never climbed up into one before and would probably need a few lessons first.

Although the branches of the beech trees were thick and friendly looking, the idea of climbing up within them seemed tricky to her, and possibly dangerous. But she imagined it might be fun to be up in the air, and above everything, and to have that bird's eye view of the world.

Besides surprising the Elfking, she was about to meet Dwarves for the first time, which made her feel slightly anxious. For a moment, she wished she had on her gown instead of the ornately decorated garment she was wearing. Not that the sparkling tunic was less beautiful than a dress, only that she felt very conspicuous wearing it. And somewhat unworthy of being clad in the royal garments.

And, although she would not ever try to deliberately draw attention to herself, there was nothing she could do to prevent it now; even in shadow the glittering gems and threads woven into her tunic shone brightly and flashed with brilliance. What would the Dwarves think of her? Would they even recognize that she was a mortal woman? The idea intrigued her, and she stopped feeling as nervous about her clothes as she had.

The leaf-muffled but still tell-tale sound of many different horse hooves finally reached her ears, and Cella held her breath in anticipation. The Elfking and the other riders were taking their time, she thought. She had noticed how Thranduil's horse was slowed down at a walk when she had caught that quick peek at him. But, she had not taken any time to see everyone else who was coming with him so the Dwarves were probably not riding on horseback and that would explain the dawdling pace.

"Breathe," whispered Legolas. She did, and at that moment she heard one set of hooves sound as if they were moving faster than the others, and she looked up at her companion with alarm, and delight. It was Alagos, Thranduil's horse, somehow she just knew it, those hoof beats were as recognizable to her as a voice. And she was sure this meant that they had been detected.

The Elfprince drew her all the way around to the backside of the wide tree-trunk, so that they could not be seen from the road, which indicated to her that he could tell they had been seen or heard, but nevertheless thought that he could still fool his father. It must be an old game for them, it occurred to her, played by the two of them for centuries perhaps.

The sound of Alagos's hooves slowed to a walk before stopping, right beside the tree. Cella looked up at Legolas, who put his finger to his lips again. She wondered if he thought there was a chance they were not discovered, but she did not mind playing along.

"Im meren le cened sí, Legolas," (I am happy to find you here, Legolas,) Thranduil said matter-of-factly. The Elfprince winced when his father spoke to him as casually as if they had just met in one of the corridors in the caves. And Cella could not help but giggle.

"Le suilon, adar, (Hello father) it is good to see you, too." As he answered, Legolas led Cella out from behind the tree and did not seem at all surprised or annoyed to have been detected. She smiled up at Thranduil, but could not open her mouth to greet him, silenced as she was by the sight of him sitting right there, before her. He addressed Legolas again, as if she was not there.

"Take Celiel's mount back to where our guests and their escorts are waiting for you. Halatirn's horse is lame and he has had to walk along beside the dornhoth (thrawn folk) for the last few leagues." He said nothing to his son about it further but wiped at his nose with the edge of his cloak while the slightest grimace of disgust flickered over his perfect features and then fled after he regained control over them.

"Oh, poor fellow," said the Elfprince. "Their smell must be horrible down there at ground level."

"It was barely tolerable from up here," replied the Elfking grimly. "I have told them all that they will bathe and put on fresh garments before they sit at my table for their supper. They are far too hungry to argue. You will escort them the rest of the way, I have to hurry ahead."

"Dear me, wood-sprite, you are losing your horse it seems," Legolas said, after turning to Cella with a sad smile, "I suppose this means you will have to walk all the way back home, probably along with our odorous guests. Unless you would rather ride with me?"

All the while during the conversation, she could not help but wonder why the King had not greeted her or even looked in her direction. But, while his son was offering a seat on his horse to her, and she was no longer paying close attention to Thranduil, he had brought his horse next to them. She could just see from the corner of her eye when his arm came down in front of her and had no time to react.

Before she knew what was about to happen, he had lifted her up off of the ground and placed her right before him on his horse, so that she sat sideways in the same way she had ridden with him when they left the vineyard. She squeaked a little when he lifted her, to her embarrassment.

"How did you do that?" She was amazed.

"Elf magic," he replied.

"Are you sure you would not rather ride with me, wood-sprite?" Legolas smiled up to them with mischief twinkling in his eyes. "You know how terribly sharp those teeth can be." Before she answered him, she looked up to Thranduil.

"I am not a hindrance to you like this, am I Sire?" That would be the only reason she would agree to ride with the Elfprince, sharp teeth or not.

But he did not answer her; instead he spoke to his son, who had remained standing by.

"Legolas," His voice was gentle, yet firm. "I am the king, am I not?"

"Yes, sire, you are the king."

"Then do what I have bid you to do, without delay. Nin heniach? (Do you understand me?)"

"At once! Of course," replied the Elfprince merrily, as if he had been invited to do something enjoyable. "I was just on my way." Swiftly, he trotted back toward the horses to obey his father, after bidding them farewell.

"Maer, (Good)," Thranduil said and, after putting an arm around Cella's waist, turned Alagos toward the caves and rode away. She could not see behind them to tell how much farther back on the road the Dwarves and other Elves were, but that meant they could not see her either. The day had been growing late, and the air had a chill to it, so she was grateful that he wrapped part of his cloak over her, and she was instantly warm.

"How are you, firiel" asked the Elfking. "Did you sleep well?"

Feeling confident, Cella hugged him, loving the way it felt to put her arms around him and press her face against his shoulder. This was unlike the first time they rode together when she had been afraid to lean against him. She wished he would kiss her, but she was content to just be near him.

"I did, Majesty, I slept very well." She smiled at remembering why that was so. "And I had a nice morning with Lothriel; she explained to me where you were and who was coming. Are these Dwarves the intruders that you heard last night? If heard is the right word, I mean."

"It is close enough, heard seems a fitting enough term. And, yes, they are the ones who were lost in my forest," he answered. "But I believe that you are the only one who is eager to receive my guests."

"I think so, too." The forest was still hushed as they rode along, with the same alert atmosphere.

"Truly, I am pleased that at least someone will be happy," he said, and smiled down at her warmly. "And this is not a particularly undesirable group of naugrim for you to meet. However, I agree with you about them seeing this small treasure of gemstones stitched upon your chest. I would rather this was put away for the time being." His hand tugged at the hem of her tunic.

Her heart was singing and it was getting difficult to concentrate on conversation when she could feel his shoulder move beneath her cheek. It was almost too good to be true, to be sitting here with him like this, when only moments ago she had been riding on a different horse and missing him.

"Halatirn's horse," she guessed out loud. "Was it really lame, Sire? She knew better than to think that the Elfking would tell a lie about an injured animal, but she wanted to hear him talk.

"Yes, and it turned into a fortunate circumstance after all, although not for Halatirn," answered Thranduil. "Dwarves are not known for their bathing habits. Even riding ahead of them was unpleasant. But now that I have a more fragrant traveling companion, I have already forgotten how badly they smelled."

She felt him press his face against her hair at the top of her head and her heart sang even louder. For a moment she sat still and smiled contentedly with her face pressed against him, and then she looked up into his eyes and loved him with all of her heart. He kissed her, gently, but thoroughly. The horse slowed down and then came to a halt.

"This is not the time for lovemaking," he told her in a regretful tone. "Haste is in order." With that said, he prompted Alagos back into a brisk pace.

Ahead, the tree-tunneled road had climbed up its last long hill before it flattened and stretched out for quite a far distance with the bright opening at its end. She had not realized until now how far from the caves she and Legolas had ridden. Soon they would be riding through the inhabited areas and she worried that Thranduil would release his hold on her when that happened, but she could understand beforehand why he should.

"How soon did you know where your son and I were waiting for you?"

"I knew the moment you had entered my forest, you were not hidden from me, either of you," he explained.

"It is a game then, the way he hides from you?"

"The Wood-elves taught my son, when he was very young, how to proceed undetected within and among the trees. For a test, he was sent each day to conceal himself in the forest for them to find him."

As the bright opening at the end of the tree-lined road grew larger and larger, Thranduil told her how one day, none of the Wood-elves could find the Elfprince, and panic had nearly broken out. "When they had to come and tell me that they had lost my son, they were convinced they would be punished." He chuckled, remembering, and of course the story had a happy ending, with Legolas being found instantly by his father.

"It was in that same tree that we were hiding behind, wasn't it?" she asked, although it was obvious, but she loved listening to the Elfking talking. All around them now, she could see the tiny huts that the Wood-elves lived in, and heard voices calling out respectful greetings to both of them.

"The very same," he said. He clasped her tightly to his chest as he kicked Alagos into a gallop, and she used the event as the perfect excuse to cling even closer to him, not caring what his subjects might think of to see her snuggled up to their king in such an intimate way.

The world whizzed past them and she silently thanked Lothriel for the secure braiding of her hair. Her eyes watered from the wind of the swift ride, but she would not remove her arms from around Thranduil long enough to wipe them. Snatches of voices raised in greeting flew around her.

It was nice to know that her horse would be used by the diligent Wood-elf, Halatirn, who had ridden ahead to the Elfking's halls and brought her the riding suit and the horse Hwiniel on that first morning she had been in Mirkwood. After bringing His Majesty nothing but troubles, it was better to be an unlooked for help in time of need.

She felt at peace to think of herself as a benefit, at last, rather than a hindrance to the king, more than she already felt at peace by being near him, if that was possible. As long as he would allow her to love him, she could think of nothing else she could want.

Alagos clattered over the bridge, and she could see that some Elves were running out of the nearby huts to assist their monarch. Before they had come to a complete stop, Thranduil leapt off of his horse with Cella in his arms and deftly stood her beside him. It took her a moment or two to adjust to the abrupt change in circumstances. She did not have Elf reflexes to cope with it as gracefully as she would have wished, and almost stumbled.

More Elves were coming down the stairs, some carried spears or bows, and most of them were peering ahead down the road. Their normally placid faces were tinged with something resembling taut anxiety. Thranduil talked to them in his own tongue, swiftly, but she caught some of what he said. It was interesting to watch their faces relax as they listened to him.

Mostly he assured them that the Dwarves were not posing any danger to the halls, and he said something to them about a builder, or his son, and a seeker, or maybe it was a scholar, which made his subjects change their expressions from almost worried to almost curious, and somewhat expectant.

As he spoke, Lothriel came down to greet the Elfking and she was happy to see Cella was home, too, or at least she appeared to be. The other Elves did not acknowledge her beyond brief nods, if even that much. She had caught a few of them glancing at her tunic, too, and she felt very self-conscious about that, even though it was what she had worn the day she had arrived.

Now that Cella knew a little bit more about the history of the regal garment she was wearing, and also that there was a tapestry depiction of Legolas wearing it hanging very publicly on display in the throne room, she wondered what they made of her in it.

"They are at least a half-hour from the gates," Thranduil said to Lothriel. "Have you made rooms ready? And are there some fresh tunics at hand, shortened as I have bid you? Did you send Galion to locate the ale in the cellars?" To each separate question, the Elleth quietly murmured, "Carnen i iest lín, hír nín." (Your wish is done, my lord.)

"Very good." As he spoke to the assembled group and then to Lothriel, Thranduil had not smiled once, Cella realized, but he nearly did at that moment. "Celiel needs a fresh gown, and probably a bite to eat. Am I correct?"

He had turned and directed this last at Cella, who was not really paying full attention while she watched him talking to the Elleth. But she gathered her wits and nodded in agreement, not even realizing how long it had been since her late breakfast until he mentioned it out loud. Until then she had been nourished by his presence.

When he bent down and kissed her forehead there was a susurration of shocked indrawn breath from all sides, and some sighs of approval as well. If they had been alone, she would have preferred he kiss her on the mouth, but under such intimidating circumstances she could feel her cheeks turning red even from such an innocent gesture. Now what were the Elves going to think? Or say about her to each other?

"I am the king, am I not?" He asked, again, but this time his eyes swept over all of the assembled household and the lingering Wood-elves as he spoke. His question was met with a chorus of affirmative responses. And then, like sunlight beaming through clouds, his smile returned as he glanced down to Cella's upturned face.

"Yes, Sire, you are the king," she whispered. "And I am at your service, for as long as I live." His gaze softened even more and he stroked her cheek.

"Go then, and make ready to receive my guests, Lothriel will go with you." But, as she turned to leave, he caught her hand and drew her back to him, bent down, and kissed her lips. It was briefer than the kiss on her forehead, but even more shocking.

"Being the king should have its own reward," he said, and then he sent her on her way, dazed and happy, up the stairs, and into his halls, to do as he had bid.

t b c


	38. Chapter 38?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 38

As Cella floated up the stone stairway that led to the cave entrance, she glanced beside her from time to time at Lothriel to gauge any reaction to the intimate moment the Elleth had just witnessed, along with most of the royal household.

The Elfking's unexpected last minute kiss had not elicited any shocked gasps from the gathered Elves like the first one he had placed on her forehead had. At least she had not heard any. And it was not possible that no one had noticed. But there was a chance that they all knew better than to respond audibly again in front of their King, even to a major breach of conduct. She prayed that was not the truth in this instance.

Certainly, it could be that she was not paying as much attention to what anyone else was doing, or noise they were making, when Thranduil had kissed her. It was more true to say that she did not hear any reaction because she could not have heard anything above the din of her own singing heart. It sang a song that drowned out all other sounds. By the time she was calmed down enough to notice anything else in her surroundings, she had only the Elleth beside her.

But Lothriel's demeanor was not noticeably different, which meant she was as serenely detached from her surroundings as most normal Elves were under any circumstances, at least from Cella's point of view. It was also possible that the Elleth was too distracted by her multiple hospitality duties to be performed at the Elfking's bidding to have had the time to react to anything else.

As the Elleth helped find her gown, which had been cleaned and hung in her wardrobe after all, and saw to her other needs, Cella noticed that Lothriel did address her with more deference and paid more careful attention to her immediate needs than she had previously. It was a subtle difference. She was reminded of how the Ellith in the pressing teams had been obviously friendlier to her after Thranduil had visited with her uncle in their little home at the vineyard.

Nonetheless, Cella felt reassured enough that Lothriel did not seem unfavorably concerned about witnessing Thranduil's public display of affection. Whatever initial shock she may have felt was not detectable.

As Cella dressed to meet the Dwarves, and nibbled on the plate of food Lothriel had asked to be delivered to her room, she wondered if the other Elves were talking about her while they were gathered outdoors. Maybe they were all too troubled about the arrival of the 'stunted folk' to have been preoccupied with their monarch and his newest mortal subject. That was her hope.

It was a sweet little kiss, but she could still feel it on her lips. Whenever Lothriel left the room, Cella would touch her mouth and smile to herself while she remembered it.

Before they returned to the cave's entrance to meet the arriving guests, the Elleth brought a cloak for Cella to wear, at the Elfking's bidding. The late afternoon breezes were chilling now that the sun had gone down behind the hill, casting an early evening shade over the area in front of the stairs leading up to the gates. While she was wearing the riding suit, with its thicker material and leggings, she had been feeling a little shivery, and now she was grateful to have something extra to cover the thinner fabric of her Elf-made gown.

The cloak she was given looked new, instead of a shortened hand-me-down, and was made of the same soft suede as Thranduil's was. However, it was a lighter shade of green, more the color of the moss carpet of the forest floor than the deeper, darker tone the Elfking wore.

It complimented the color of her dress beautifully and Cella was only sorry that it covered her to her feet so that no one could tell how nicely they went together. But, without the extra covering, she would have been shaking with cold after she followed Lothriel back out of the caves and into the cool shadows of the autumn evening.

The entire population of the Mirkwood palace, plus the Wood-elves from out of their huts and tree-homes, were quietly assembled in front of the gates to witness the arrival of the lost party of Dwarves. By the time Cella returned, most of the Elves who had been carrying weapons were now disarmed. There were some with bows slung over their backs, but none with arrows ready to fire.

Thranduil stood with some of the Elflords, who were taller than the Wood-elves and more fair of face, and dressed in richly regal robes, and who also intimidated Cella too much for her to approach him while he spoke with them. She tried in vain to blend in with the crowd, but now the Elves dealt with her differently than they had before.

They treated her with much more courtesy and respect, like Lothriel, and some of them even smiled at her and greeted her kindly. But none of them would let her stand behind them, or remain hidden at their side, and she was continually nudged back out into the front of the much taller bystanders. Eventually, with their coaxing, she was near enough to Thranduil to hear him as he spoke to his Elflords, and she was happy enough to be that close.

An even greater hush had fallen over the Elfking's forest as the party of lost Dwarves, surrounded by their Elven escort, with Legolas in the lead, approached the bridge that led to the entrance of the caves. For Cella, it felt like every living thing was holding its breath in expectation and the very rocks were on alert for danger.

Out from the crowd of approaching guests and their mounted escort, Halatirn astride Cella's pretty horse, Hwiniel, broke away on a lope to cross the bridge ahead of them all. He leapt to the ground as gracefully as a cat and spoke briefly with Thranduil before finding a place to stand.

As he passed beside her, the Wood-elf nodded and smiled at Cella, perhaps to express his gratitude to her for providing the horse that kept him from having to walk with the odorous house-guests for the last leg of their journey. While she knew it was happenstance that she had been out riding with Legolas when Halatirn was on foot and in need, she was glad to have been there just the same.

Shyly, she had smiled back at him, but did not say anything, although she felt touched that he had acknowledged her. Watching the Dwarves draw near reminded her that Uncle Dwain would soon be arriving on that same road. In all the commotion today, she had not heard word of their progress.

However, even she knew they should have at least reached the edge of Mirkwood by now if they had left the vineyard early in the morning. There was no good reason to suspect that her uncle was not coming soon. No matter how much she may have wished otherwise.

And she found it was easier to dismiss the whole subject from her mind, because wondering and worrying about Uncle Dwain's arrival only made her feel guilty. She wanted to see him again, safe and sound, healed and whole, and as soon as possible. But at the same time she hoped he would not show up right away.

It was better to concentrate on the Dwarves and leave coping with her uncle's close proximity to her guest rooms for later contemplation. After all, even though he would be there, sooner or later, and as inevitably as the tides in the inland sea had been, he was not there yet. With a sigh of relief, she dismissed him from her mind for the moment, and instead focused on what was happening in front of her.

As if he was waiting for her to clear her mind of worries, at that very instant Thranduil looked over his shoulder at Cella. Her heart did a little jump when he beckoned for her to join him. Self-consciously, she stood beside him and was glad he did not kiss her again.

Because the Dwarves were on foot and the Wood-elves in front of them were mounted, at first it was difficult to actually see them as they drew near, except for tantalizing peeks. However, Cella could hear them long before she could begin to distinguish a tell-tale swinging beard on what she could see of the thicker, shorter people who were barely visible from behind the horses.

From the distance, like the rhythmic tinkling of bells on a horse's headstall, came a chink-chink sound as they marched methodically along. She had heard something faintly similar in the forest while hiding behind the tree, but it was not as pronounced and metallic a noise as it was when they trod over the long wooden bridge.

But the origin of the clinking noise did not come clear to Cella until the horses split away into two different directions, right and left, to reveal the odd group of short, bearded folk. Each of them, and the two ponies that were being led by them, were equipped with various excavation tools and weapons. Some had long-handled picks which were cleverly fixed in their belts, others had shovels, and all had axes, too, of various lengths and uses.

However, despite the enormous amount of items that were or could be used as a battle-weapon, they were not a particularly fierce-looking group of warriors as they trudged wearily to a halt. In fact, they looked lost, hungry, and far from home.

Their faces were covered in hair, but their eyes grew bright at the sight of the caves. It seemed to Cella that as they stood there and looked up at the stairs and into the dark interior within the opened gates, they all seemed to visibly relax. Perhaps in anticipation of soon being within the enormous stone portal and surrounded by rock and earth, the very stuff of what they were made, at least according to Lothriel.

The adopted children of Ilúvatar, she had pronounced them, as if that explained their origins, and Cella could see with her own eyes that they were not made by the same hand as the Firstborn Elves were.

The contrast between the fair and slender Elves and the squat, stout, bearded Dwarves was like the difference between glittering gems and dull granite stones. But even granite has its uses. And when polished can have its own beauty. To her the shorter, hairier men were not so much ugly as odd or peculiar.

With a more serious look on his face than he usually wore, Legolas dismounted and formally greeted Thranduil and the rest of the Elves in attendance. With a flourish of bows from all parties, he introduced the Dwarves to his father one by one.

Even though everyone knew that the Elfking had ridden out and met them earlier, the Dwarves were introduced to him as if it was the first time they had met. Cella could see how His Majesty, being surrounded by his subjects, took on a different role. He was the symbol of all of the Elves in the realm, and by politely receiving the unexpected party of guests in this public way he reinforced his promises. First to his subjects, that these intruders meant them no harm, and then to the Dwarves, that they would be welcomed.

First to be introduced was the leader of the expedition, the esteemed Duin, who was the brother of Dain, King under the Mountain, may his beard grow long, and who also was inexplicably wearing a spotless sky blue cloak and hood, unlike the rest of his companions whose traveling clothes were uniformly tattered and dirty.

After he was introduced, Duin threw his marvelously clean cloak back over his shoulders to reveal a broad glittering belt around his stout waist. On either side of him were his private guards, Eberk and Tordek, who removed their hoods and bowed with almost as much elegance as an Elf, at least to Cella's eyes, as they were introduced to the Elfking.

Next to come was Norfi, who was identified as a scholar and the son of Narfi, the builder, whose beard should also grow long. When he was introduced, with his mysterious title, Cella noticed that there were many Elves who nodded and smiled toward this particular Dwarf. She was fairly certain that the Narfi being mentioned was in some way responsible for the construction of the Elfking's caves.

And it was not just his title, or the reaction of the Elves, that prompted her to make such a guess. Even though Norfi was as travel-stained and worn as his companions, she thought she might have mistaken him for a particular one of the Dwarves depicted in the tapestry that Legolas had shown her in the throne room, if he had on a clean mantle and boots it would have been easier to tell. He had the exact same curly-haired beard as the embroidered Dwarf in the tapestry did, which was so dark brown in color that it was nearly black.

Next to Norfi were his personal escort, Ali and Vali, who looked identical to her mortal eyes and must at least be brothers. They all three bowed with the same grace as their companions had. Cella thought them funny but charming with their exaggerated courtly gestures. None of them, so far, paid much attention to her presence, or showed any reaction to her being a mortal maid among Elves.

The names of the ponies were never told, but Cella was almost as curious about them as she was about the bearded folk. Although both beasts were nearly equally burdened with bedrolls, sacks, and bags, as well as bristling with extra tools and axes, one was shaggy, humble, and mouse-gray in color while the other was snowy white, sleek, well-groomed and proud.

And this difference in appearances was mimicked in the two sets of Dwarves, for that is how Cella immediately perceived them; the builder's son and his twin escort were more tattered and torn, soiled and road worn than the fancy attired brother of Dain, may his beard grow long, and his personal guards.

It was obviously an alliance of sorts between the two groups, but whether of convenience or necessity was not entirely clear. After the introductions were over, and the Dwarves had each individually vowed to be at the services of Thranduil and his realm for as long as their visit lasted, Duin, brother of Dain, stepped forward to speak.

"In ancient times, O hospitable King of the woodland," he began, "our forefathers and your kind had their disagreements and quarrels, to be sure. This is not the day to find or lay blame, to accuse, annoy, or pass judgments. And we mean you no harm or distress. Today we seek only temporary shelter as we gather ourselves to continue on our private expedition unmolested and unfettered."

The silent crowd listened with respect as Duin spoke. It took him a while to get to the point, if there was a point. For a while he continued to speak about the obvious, how he, the holder of a map, had set out from his brother's Kingdom under the Mountain leading his company on this trek of great historical interest. And he was accompanied by the builder's son, Norfi the scholar, who had the most intimate knowledge of the Elfking's realm. He had been a residence of the forest when he was a lad.

Cella lost track of what he was saying after a while, as the dignified but long-winded Dwarf recounted how his party had inadvertently lost their bearings soon after they had entered the forest, through no fault of his, and he paused at that point to glare at Ali and Vali, who stared up at the sky in response.

As Duin ploddingly droned on, she looked up at the Elfking to study his handsome profile while she had the chance. He was paying attention to his guests, so she returned her attention to them too. But she wondered when they would ever get the chance to be alone again. Would it not be wonderful to be a real Queen to her King at this moment? Then she could reach out and touch him, perhaps even hold his hand, without caring what anyone thought of it.

While she stood there daydreaming, half-listening to the Dwarves and the Elfking, she felt his hand on her elbow, drawing her closer to his side. It was time to go inside the caves, and Lothriel, with her own army of Elves to provide her assistance, was put in charge of taking the naugrim to their guest chambers.

They were interested in studying the interior of the caves, but balked when instructed to leave their mining tools behind them at the entrance. The Elfking would allow them to explore at their leisure with appropriate supervision, but without any excavation or mining tools in hand. Their ponies were taken to the stables after the equipment was removed. They were each allowed to carry one axe with them, even though Cella noticed that some of the Wood-elves shifted uncomfortably to hear it.

"Legolas will assist with the explorations." Thranduil turned to his son and addressed him. "Please follow and make yourself useful."

"But father, the smell...,"

"They will bathe, and change into clean tunics, Lothriel is already seeing to that," interrupted Thranduil without hesitation, and then, after glancing down at Cella, he looked back to his son and added, "Come to think of it, Legolas, since you have lately taken such an interest in the personal habits of my guests, and their wardrobes, you will help her with dressing the naugrim, as well."

The Elfprince grimaced and turned to Cella with a sorrowful expression.

"Do you see the suffering I must endure in service to the throne of Mirkwood?" he asked her. "There is still time to escape and flee back into the forest to live free before you are put to work doing some similar form of hard labor." But Legolas did not seem overly aggrieved to be sent off to help the over-burdened Elleth, and he wished them both a cheerful farewell before he did so.

"I will escort you to your room, firiel," the King remarked very quietly so that she scarce was sure she understood him, but as he had his hand on her elbow and was guiding her up the stairs, she did not need to have him repeat his words. "I can tell that Lothriel will have her hands full for some time," he explained, as if he needed to.

After they reached the interior of the palace, passing the silent and motionless palace guards with their freshly sharpened spears, the other Elves who had been following their monarch politely took their leave of him. Cella had barely noticed that they were behind her, they were so typically silent, and she was busily rehearsing what she was going to say to Thranduil when she had the chance to speak with him privately.

As usual, once they were truly alone, the Elfking's nearness took Cella's prior thoughts away, and all the things she wanted to say to him, that she had stored up since her day had started, could find no voice. Then, in the silence that followed, she could only hope that her eyes spoke what her heart was feeling.

As the Elfking led her through the palace corridors he asked her what she thought of the Dwarves, and seemed interested in her answers. And as she told him her impressions of the awkwardly graceful bearded folk, Cella found her voice again. Soon she peppered him with questions about the Dwarf-made parts of the caves versus the Elf-made.

They paused beside a few tapestries and Thranduil pointed out a number of them depicting Dwarves at work in the background, and she noticed a few more in some of the other wall hangings as they walked toward her rooms. His Majesty did not lead her as though he was in a desperate hurry to be rid of her, and his leisurely pace made her feel calmer.

It was not until they were walking through the reception hall of her guest chambers that Cella finally got up the nerve to ask him if they would be, or when they would be, alone again, especially after her uncle arrived there. Breathlessly she awaited his reply and hoped that she had not overstepped her bounds, the limits of which were still unknown to her. But she trusted that from his answer she would learn more.

"Let me worry about your uncle, Celiel, when that time comes."

"I am sorry," she said. "I forget that you have more important issues to occupy your time with."

"Indeed, there is no need to borrow trouble." He did not sound concerned. "And as far as being alone, we are." With a wave of his hand that swept over the pillared hall, he indicated the truth of his words; there was no one else around them. She tried to gather herself enough to speak maturely under the circumstances. If he would only stay with her for a while longer, she would be content to be left alone after.

"My heart is ever at your service, Sire."

"Of that I have no doubt," he said as he led her into her bedchamber. "And I intend to put it to good use." Her heart began to beat faster, but she kept her voice steady as he shut the door behind them.

"Then I will try not to torment you any more with my frivolous little worries and cares."

"You are to me a most enjoyable torment, but I will not suffer torment of any nature for long without seeking its end," he said as he held her face with one of his hands. "Nor will I allow you to suffer." With that said, he kissed her properly. And it was some time before she thought about his words, and what they meant, or anything else.

t b c


	39. Chapter 39?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 39

For the first time since she had woken up alone that day, Cella felt at ease. She and Thranduil sat on the couch in front of the bedchamber's fireplace, and talked about her day. The torches and candles had guttered out long before they had arrived, but the fire's merry glow was sufficient for their quiet conversation. It reminded her of the night they had slept outdoors, with only the flickering flames and starlight to see each other by.

If it had been up to her, as soon as they had entered her bedchamber, Thranduil would have done more than just kiss her, although that was very nice. If she had her way, he would also have undressed her right then and there and taken her to bed. But he did not, and she could not bring herself to ask.

"Come and sit with me," he had requested, after helping her out of her cloak. "I want to talk with you."

It was not easy to concentrate at first, because the Elfking's kiss had left her a bit breathless and giddy. But after they sat down, and he had taken one of her hands into his much larger one, she found it easier to breathe. He told her that he wanted to hear about her morning, and her ride with Legolas, and what she thought of the forest creatures after they had been summoned into her view.

Because she had been under the impression that he could continually read her mind and always knew her feelings, at first she was sure that he was teasing her even though she did enjoy telling him about the way Legolas had entertained her and how Lothriel had pampered her. It was hard to believe he found any of it very interesting.

After a little while, she finally was brave enough to ask him if he was not bored by her when he already knew everything she did, thought, and felt. This was a notion that continually preoccupied her, especially at those times when she caught herself drifting off in a daydream of wishful thinking about the Elfking and would scold herself for possibly disturbing him.

She was touched to think that he wanted to hear her speak of her day, just to hear her talk, but she did not want to keep him from more important tasks if she could help it. And she admitted to him that she could think of nothing more tedious to endure than hearing her trivial opinions about his realm even the first time she had them, let alone having to hear them all over again.

But, Thranduil reassured her that although he could keep track of her thoughts, if he so chose, he actually did not. Instead he allowed her the same privacy as he did the rest of his subjects. Nonetheless, he discovered that she was difficult to ignore. And he was delighted to hear about his forest and its creatures from her point of view, for he found her perspective to be refreshment to his spirit

"You can be very distracting at times, firiel," he informed her in a tone of mock-sternness, and then he added in a softer tone, "although I know that you are not even aware of it."

"I am so sorry, Sire. I will try to do better." Although he had made her feel of some worth when he claimed that she was good for his spirit, it was worrisome to her to be thought a distraction. The idea of accidentally interrupting the important business of His Majesty with her silly flights of fancy was something she had been almost desperate to avoid at all times. The last thing she wanted was to be nuisance to him. "I honestly try as hard as I can not to think too loud, I promise," she said.

"And that is what makes your thoughts all the more impossible to resist." He lifted her hand and, after he pressed his lips against it, added, "And your efforts to remain quiet can be rather clamorous."

"Now that I am finally alone with you," she said. "I do feel safer thinking about you. But when there were others around you today, I was worried about being a bother, sometimes. But it was so hard not to think about...us." She was learning that the most important things are the hardest to say, because words diminish them.

"Ah, then you should understand that it is my lot in life to suffer much, even from the stray affections of a mortal mind, and still be strong." He smiled at her. "But, neither you nor your thoughts about me are bothersome, at any time." To hear this was a relief, but she was not so sure he was being truthful.

"What about that night by the campfire? I believe you were annoyed with me then, and my less than ladylike thoughts." She cringed a little inside, remembering how hard she had tried to send him a thought-picture to seduce him with that night, and how she had failed so miserably.

"No, I was not annoyed. I would not say that," he replied thoughtfully. For a few moments, he stared into the fire silently before continuing, "I had always thought that the emotions of mortals were both too fleeting and frivolous for consideration and never before had I let them touch my heart. Your persistence, on the other hand, was rare and unexpected, yet effective, to be sure. But you were never annoying."

As they sat together, Cella took delight in the very simplest interactions with Thranduil. Just to be able to talk with him about these ordinary and extraordinary matters made her feel cherished. And the way he sometimes lifted her hand and absentmindedly studied her fingers as he held it brought her almost as much profound pleasure as their heated coupling during the night had done.

And she was nearly delirious with the joy of being near him, and having him to herself. Now that the Dwarves had arrived and the vineyard workers were soon to follow, she had not expected to be gifted with such a treat for quite some time, maybe even days. Just being alone, truly alone, with Thranduil filled her with an emotion so deep and tender that no other feeling could compare.

But, Cella wanted to know more about the Dwarves, too. She was curious about many things, such as how they got lost if they had a map, and why they were they always wishing for each other's beards to grow long. She also wondered why Duin was spotless while the others were filthy, but she did not ask.

Thranduil was amusing to listen to as he recounted the story of how the Dwarves had lost their way. It seemed that the famous map of Thror that the Dwarves had with them only described the very edge of the Elfking's forest. He had to let go of her hand to hold one of his own up, palm forward so she saw the back of it, to help describe what the actual map represented as he explained it to her.

"Imagine that this is my forest," he said. "The map only showed this part." Then he pointed to the very tips of his fingers to indicate how the entire depiction of the great woodland was along its very northern edge. The rest of it was not shown.

"However," Thranduil added, "there was at least an arrow pointing to my halls and a warning to beware of the spiders." He shook his head. "That was all." For a moment he sat with an expression of near bemusement on his handsome face before he continued.

"The naugrim from the Lonely Mountain kingdom do not travel this way but rarely," he began, "Specifically, in this situation, Duin, the brother of Dain, and the leader of their group, and his soldiers, were not very used to traveling far from Dale at all, if ever."

The other Dwarves, Narfi and his escort, were Anfangrim Longbeards, whose forefathers had originally dwelt in the mansions of Dwarrowdelf, in their Kingdom beneath the Misty Mountains and it was they who had built the Old Forest Road. Thranduil told her that he had expected that the Dwarves might begin to travel back and forth again upon that road now that the darkness from Dol Guldur had diminished.

"Narfi would be from Durin's folk, then?" The question seemed to jump out of her mouth, unbidden, but Cella was pleased with herself when the Elfking grinned proudly while he nodded.

"The builders of their grand caves were Narfi's ancestors. How do you know of Durin's folk?

"Lothriel told me about them and their ancient road this morning."

Although Cella briefly considered it now, she decided not to ask Thranduil any questions about the underlying tone of animosity toward the Dwarves that she had noticed during her conversation with the Elleth. She remembered in time how he had not been pleased when he had told her about the hobbit who had helped some of them escape from his dungeons.

She figured that if he had imprisoned Dwarves in the past, then there might be something dangerous about them that she did not suspect, or detect. And she did not want him to think her foolish, or even traitorous, for liking them, even if she did not feel at all uncomfortable when she was introduced to them that day.

But, of course, she did not have to ask him anything. The Elfking regarded her face calmly for a moment, and then put an arm around her to draw her closer to him. He held her without speaking and she wondered what he was thinking.

"This must all be very confusing to you," he finally said. "But I would rather not have you burdened with the ancient history of all the bitter relations between our folk. This particular party of visitors poses no threat to my realm, Celiel, and there is no purpose served in abusing any lost traveler who gives an honest account of their activities in my forest. You may enjoy their company without guilt."

"Thank you, Sire." As he spoke, Cella reveled in his embrace. When he did not release her at once, she slipped one of her arms around him and snuggled even closer. That way, she could hear the vibration of his lovely voice in his chest, and below that, the steady rhythm of his heart-beat, which was nearly mesmerizing all on its own.

Getting back to his tale of the lost Dwarves, Thranduil told her how Narfi and his escort had misgivings about Duin's usefulness as a guide, but when he did not immediately lead the expedition party astray, the former denizens of the Great Greenwood had accepted the mountain Dwarf's guidance without question for many leagues of travel toward Mirkwood.

Again Thranduil held his hands up, and traced a line from an imaginary Lonely Mountain a few inches above his longest finger that ended near the outside of the tip of his first finger. Duin had no problem following the Celduin River from where it spilled out of that mountain on its way to the Long Lake, which was located beside the knuckle of that same finger, a little to the left.

Cella giggled as she imagined the tiny mountain and miniature lake beside the enormous hand-sized forest. She had traveled beside that river, and knew the layout vaguely, but it was interesting to see it before her like this. And even though Thranduil had removed his arms from around her to demonstrate the misguided Dwarves' progress with his hands, she had not let go of him. He did not seem to mind.

She tried to focus on his forest, held before her in all of its majesty, represented by the back of his beautiful hand.

"And just about here," he explained, as he pointed to spot just below the fingernail of his first finger, "is where their troubles began, for the Forest River that flows out of Mirkwood," he drew a line across the top of his knuckles, "and into the lake, lay right across their path, and in their confusion they followed alongside it instead of the Celduin, which they had intended to travel beside until they reached the Old Forest Road. Unfortunately, they ended up traveling due west instead of south, as they should have."

It was shortly after leaving the lakeside while keeping to the river's edge that they suddenly found they were surrounded by trees. Duin was too stubborn to admit that he might have made a mistake, and even though Narfi was quite sure from the very start that they were following the wrong river, he was outvoted when the decision was made to continue on.

"It does no good to argue with newly restored royalty, especially from the house of Dain, may his estimable beard grow long, for they are a proud and stubborn breed. And Duin takes his status seriously, as all of their Blue Mountain folk were wont to do. I do not blame them for it. They were so long exiled by the invasion of Smaug..." His voice trailed off and he was silent again for a moment, but Cella did not mind. She was not really listening any more.

He had lost her when he said it did no good to argue with royalty, because she knew differently, although she did not say so out loud. She only smiled to think that she actually had the courage to challenge the only royal person she had ever met. And he was here, right beside her, because she had been brave enough to argue. She stared into the fire while she loved him.

However, underneath Cella's joy at being alone with the Elfking, and despite it, there was a quiet but constantly gnawing awareness that she was only a mortal, and of no significance or importance in her brief turn in this world.

On and off, throughout that day so far, she had worried that at any moment the Elfking might come to his senses and realize all of that about her, too. It was a dark thought, and she had fought it off each time.

Once that they were alone, those feelings had disappeared the minute he kissed her, and she had forgotten them. But as he spoke of events that had occurred before even her own parents were born, the anxiety she had felt rose up again to thwart her peace of mind. What could she ever expect to be in his life?

"Do you have a question to ask me?" She nearly jumped at his words. Immediately she regretted her fears because she knew that he did care about her, and very much. And he had shown her that he did with more actions than mere words of everlasting devotion could have ever shown. She was almost tempted to deny everything; if only that they might quickly return to the happy quiet state that they were sharing just moments ago.

But, Cella did want to ask him something, and now was a good time for it. She smiled up into his face and spoke.

"What does 'gil dhannen dithen nín' mean?" She had not forgotten his words, or the tender way he spoke them, and in fact had repeated them to herself many times. However, she was not sure she was saying them back to him correctly.

"Do you not know? You should, for you said them first to me," he answered. But from the way he quirked the corner of his mouth she figured it was something of a riddle for her to decipher. She thought hard before she replied.

"I know it is about a star, or a little star?" Cella searched his face for a clue, as if she could have read the answer to anything in that penetrating gaze. Instead she grew even more befuddled by the light that flickered subtly in his eyes as he waited for her to figure out the puzzle. "Tell me," she whispered in surrender.

"It means, 'my little fallen star'," he said, before he kissed her. And then he kissed her again after she asked him to say it to her in the way she wanted to hear it, "Gil dhannen dithen nín." But then he broke away from her, and she groaned.

"Don't stop, Majesty."

"Have patience, little star," the Elfking replied gently and then added, "It is good that you reminded me of this." He sat straight again and pulled her head to press against his chest. "There is something else that I want to talk to you about."

Although she felt a twinge of alarm, she reminded herself of how she had gotten herself trapped in a state of misery the last time she had assumed the worst when he had had something important to tell her, and how foolishly she had behaved because of that.

"Alright," she reluctantly answered. "I will be patient, Sire."

"I cannot marry you, Celiel, as is the custom of mortals," he began, and even though she had never in her daydreams considered that he could, her heart sank so quickly that it made her feel sick. But she took a deep breath and instructed herself to be calm and listen. "But neither will I deny my feelings for you," he continued, "nor do I choose to disguise them any longer under a mask of self-righteous nobility. And I find that I cannot be false when you are near me and we both know the truth."

She sat up straight and looked at him after she could breathe again

"Just, please, do not send me away from here, Your Majesty," she said. "I could not bear it and I would not live through it." And Cella was more than ready to promise him anything if he would only tell her that he would not dismiss her.

"Never," he said flatly, calming her instantly. "When a star this bright falls into my lap, I would be a fool to discard it." He kissed her again, to prove that his words were true.

And then it was her turn to break away, when her curiosity over what he had just said finally overcame the pleasure of kissing him.

"What is going to happen, then? To me?" And then, she dared to say, "To us?"

She braced herself. Her biggest worry was that his own subjects disapproved of what they might consider offensive behavior, on the part of their monarch, for him to consort with a lowly mortal maid. If that was true, then their sheer numbers could overrule her insignificant desire to love him. The Elfking was dedicated to keeping peace and harmony within his entire realm.

Her second worry was that Uncle Dwain would somehow discover that they were lovers, and would disown her in disgust, or try to take her away from the Elfking by force. She shuddered.

"Do not fear, Celiel." Thranduil's voice was soothing and she let him draw her close to him again as he continued speaking. "For I have thought of something else, and maybe there will be a way to satisfy all parties involved. I will not say anything further until I consult with my legal advisor. However I do want you to know one thing."

"Tell me." She was no longer afraid of anything he might say, but she wished he would kiss her again first.

"You will not ever be taken away from me, either by the law, or by the hand of any one else, for as long as you live."

And then he did kiss her again.

t b c


	40. Chapter 40?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 40

The peaceful vineyard was beautiful in the fading light of the sunset. Cella drank in the pleasing scene as she stood before the window in the royal bedchamber at the Elfking's mansion and looked down over the rows of gold-tinted vines spread out below her.

"For as long as you live." Thranduil's beautiful voice resounded in her ears. But even though his words were no more than an echo, or a memory, Cella did not think she could ever get tired of recalling them.

Satisfied with the way the acres of sun-gilded vines appeared, she lifted her head to look off into the distance at the lofty-peaked Lonely Mountain that dominated the horizon, and she felt so happy that she thought she would cry. But the contented peacefulness did not last for long.

For all of a sudden, an inky, murky darkness had blurred the view outside as night fell on the vineyard. Cella did not at all like the way the moon looked, hanging all alone, white and cold, up there in the pitch-black sky, and she closed the shutters to keep out both the utter all-consuming darkness and that one eerie source of light.

However, closing the shutters meant that it was darker inside of the room now, and she hesitated, unsure that blocking out the thin, cold moonlight was a wise idea. Bravely, she told herself that she was not to let herself feel afraid, because she was safe, forever safe. All she needed to do was light a candle.

As Cella reached her hands out in front of her to gropingly feel her way toward the table, she felt even less afraid and was growing increasingly annoyed that her vision was obscured. And there was also a sound next to her that she did not like to hear, it was a strange and yet familiar crackling sound and it bothered her.

Even worse, there seemed to be a frightening smell attached to it... but how could a sound have a smell? Peculiarly, the darkness that she moved through seemed to have a texture to it and parted like a misty curtain before her, and swirled around her, and then closed in behind her, just... like... smoke.

It was smoke! Black, thick clouds of smoke. The vineyard must be on fire again! Her mouth was open wide and she was screaming out as loud as she could, but all that emerged was a whispered croak. Right next to her there was a voice, quiet and yet strong enough to be heard over her silent screaming, and it said"Open your eyes."

Cella sat up straight with a jerk and stared about her in wide-eyed confusion as she looked for the speaker of those words. At first, it was a surprise to her that the room was not dark after all, and then she felt flooded with relief. She had been asleep, on the couch, and had dreamt about Thranduil's bedchamber back at the vineyard. It was a wonderful dream that had turned into a nightmare.

Although Cella was not cold, her body shook a little with left over horror brought on by the dream, and she was not quite all the way awake. She gasped, startled, when she heard something moving around. Somebody was in her dressing room.

"Who is there" After calling out, she noticed that her dress was damp with perspiration, most notably over her chest and back, and the fabric clung to her uncomfortably. She was too hot, probably from sleeping before the fire, but she was too sluggish from the nap to want to move away from it.

"It is Lothriel" called the Elleth, which made Cella feel better instantly, now that she knew for certain that she was not alone with a smoky monster that had crept in while she slept. But where was Thranduil? She looked around the room, as if he might be hiding in a corner, which was, of course, silly.

The Elfking was gone from the chambers, but she knew he was not far. Within her, she could feel that inner reassurance from him even stronger than she had ever felt it before. It felt like an embrace from the inside. However, he had a kingdom to manage, which meant that he could not spend every minute of his time with her, and she understood that without the need to be reminded.

The thick braid on the back of her neck felt heavy and oppressive. She shifted it aside on her shoulder and waved her hand to make a little breeze to cool off her skin there. Another bath would be nice, although she would never think of bothering anyone for one. There was an almost irresistible urge to lie back down and nap some more.

As she tried to wake fully, she realized that all of the torches had been lit, the fire rebuilt, and there were candles glowing on the mantle above the hearth. The familiar woodsy odor emitted by the sap-filled pine knots that were used for kindling was sweet to her nostrils, now that she knew the source.

And the friendly snapping and popping noises from the burning logs were no longer as disturbing as the scary crackling sounds had been within her dream. She slowly returned to normal as she put together the elements of her nightmare.

"Are you feeling well, Celiel" asked the concerned Elf maiden. She had come out from the little room with a garment in her hands. It was a dress, but one Cella had never seen before.

"I am fine, I think, just too warm from the fire" she said and then covered a yawn with her hand before adding. "I was having a bad dream, but I feel... better now."

"Oh, you must tell me about it then, for that is the best cure." Lothriel sat beside her, after draping the gown that was in her arms over the foot of the bed, and waited expectantly. When Cella did not immediately respond to her, she prompted"And then, perhaps I can help you to decipher the dream properly and dispel the fear that it grew from."

"I... I can't remember much of it anymore, just bits of it, the very end." It would be more truthful to say that she did not necessarily want to talk about her nightmare with the Elleth, than to say she could not remember it. And the Elfking was not there. She would have related it to him, maybe. Or, maybe not. With a sharp pang of remorse, she suddenly missed her uncle and felt guilty for ever having dreaded his arrival.

"The very end of your dream will do fine, if you wish to tell me about it, and that is often enough to bring out the rest of it" said Lothriel. "Tell me all that you can recall."

"Never mind, please, it isn't that... important." Cella was touched by Lothriel's offer, but she would rather put the unpleasant dream behind her and not think about it any more. She smiled at the Elleth and said"Please don't worry about me. I have had that dream before, or ones like it."

"I have had episodes that are much like a mortal's nightmares, too, from what I know about them. Except that what I experience is more akin to deliberately allowing dark memories to haunt my mind when I am feeling weak, or angry."

The fact that the Elves were big believers in talking, and not just to anyone, but also about everything, was something Cella had known before she had ever met or lived among them. Nonetheless, she was not yet accustomed to discussing herself, or her fears, at least not freely with anyone. However, she almost changed her mind when Lothriel spoke about her own 'dark memories'.

As she spoke, the Elleth seemed to withdraw her immediate presence from the room, without actually moving anywhere, in much the same way the Elfking did at times when Cella asked him a question about the past, especially his own past. As if they could slip in and out of two different worlds at will.

"And to think" Lothriel remarked slowly, a bit ashamedly, and before Cella could respond to the last thing she had said about being haunted"it is possible that I may have spared you from having your nightmare if I had followed orders and wakened you immediately when I first came in."

She stood as she continued talking"But you looked very peaceful, and I know you did not get much sleep last night, so I thought that I should allow you a few moments more rest while I brought out a fresh dress for the evening."

And there was something in both the way Lothriel smiled at her, and in her casual tone when she mentioned the night before, that spoke volumes to Cella's newly-blossomed woman's heart. Before the Elleth could turn away from her, she stopped her with a question.

"You know... don't you" She breathed it out to Lothriel before she had even realized what she was about to say. "I mean... well, what do you know" Cella could not help herself, she needed a friend. But she winced a little, not knowing what to expect in reply. The Elleth's face grew thoughtful and serious as she returned to sit again before she answered.

"Do you mean, what is it that I know about mortals? Or what do I know about their dreams? I think that I have told you before that I have lived among mortals. I have learned much about them and their unusual sleeping habits, and their unfortunate fear of the dark, which often leads them to feel terrified in their dreams..."

Lothriel stopped short in her speech and appeared close to being surprised at what she had said to Cella, and then she added, apologetically"Of course, I did not mean 'unusual' in a bad way, you do know that"

"Of course" agreed Cella, fascinated. Although she had not meant what Lothriel obviously thought she had meant with her question, she was curious about what the Elleth knew about mortals. And this misunderstanding was a relief in a way.

Regardless of her reprieve, before she could have asked her first question over again, if she had found the courage to do so, the Elleth continued.

"Truly, I am sorry, Celiel, for a moment I forgot that I was speaking to a mortal." And even though Lothriel meant it as a personal criticism of her own lapse in manners for making such a mistake, Cella did not feel offended by it. In fact, she took it as a compliment. She felt flattered that an Elf had felt so comfortable talking with her, if only for a brief moment, that she had not suppressed her thoughts or her words.

"And I am sorry, too" Cella answered"because I do not doubt that you know more about mortal sleeping habits than I do, and I guess it sounded like I did. And I would like to learn about how Elves sleep, and dream, someday. But, that wasn't what I meant..." She found she could go no further.

"Ah, then you wonder what I know about... what" After a pause, in which Cella could not have replied if her life had depended on it, Lothriel laughed.

And it was not a scornful laugh, or a demeaning one, but a tinkling little burst of merriment, as if Cella had told a joke that had taken a bit of thought before the humor became apparent to the Elleth. Lothriel patted her hand as she replied to her.

"It is not my place to question the decisions of aran Thranduil, but it is evident to me that he treasures you, Celiel, and it my duty to care for and protect whatever he treasures. But you are worthy of his high regard, and his... affection. That was apparent from the moment you first arrived... actually, now that I think of it, even before you had arrived."

Lothriel sat silent for a moment, as if remembering a pleasant experience, and then she continued"We were told beforehand that our king was bringing you with him here to his halls, and we were encouraged by what we had heard about you. And you were even more delightful in person than we had expected."

"We" Cella imagined a hall full of sober, robed Elves. It was a daunting image.

"Legolas and me" explained Lothriel, to Cella's relief. "There are not many of us in the realm who can speak your tongue, so he and I were the ones that were appointed to help make you feel welcome and at home here."

"When Halatirn came ahead of you in the night while aran Thranduil paused to make camp" Lothriel continued"he came not just to fetch the horse and the riding suit, but also to alert us to prepare for you with great care. He had told us that our lord had a mortal guest of importance... and that he was of the notion that the king was quite partial toward you, leastways from what he had seen."

"Then Legolas already knew who I was, before he ever met me" Even though it was a little unnerving to discover that she had been discussed ahead of her arrival, and by Elves who were strangers to her at the time, Cella was absurdly pleased to consider this about the Elfprince, even though she should have felt tricked.

Instead she felt amused as she remembered the various questions he had asked about her and the humorous assumptions he had made. She smiled to herself as she thought of how he had behaved like he was surprised by her appearance with his father, and was ignorant of her origins, when he had known all along that she was from the vineyard.

There was a knock at the door, and Cella's spirit soared, but her hopes were dashed instantly. It was not the Elfking that poked his head into the room, but the same quiet Elf that she had seen in her chambers before, the one who had helped with the dinner trays and had delivered her gown. She had not yet learned his name.

While Lothriel left her alone as she stepped out of the room to speak with him, Cella wondered if she was going to be brought her dinner to eat there in her chambers, or if she was expected to dine with Thranduil in one of the great halls. Was there to be a welcoming feast for the Dwarves?

The idea both excited and worried her. She was not sure she was ready to be on display before a large gathering, but she would like to see the Dwarves again, and Legolas, and, of course, the Elfking. The Elleth returned, and beckoned to her.

"If you will go on ahead to the bathing chamber to freshen up" she said as Cella joined her in the doorway"I will bring your gown to you, and then I will brush your hair. Would you like that"

"Very much" said Cella, who did enjoy having her hair tended to by the Elleth's capable hands; it made her feel pampered. And even if she could not bring herself to ask for another bath, after she had already had one that day, she was grateful for the opportunity to wash her face and hands, and to change into a fresh gown. She felt quite spoilt. Before she went ahead, she had one more question.

"Have you heard anything of my uncle, and the rest of them from the vineyard? Are they near" But Lothriel shook her head, and shrugged slightly in reply. Cella knew that the Elleth was looking forward to having some help with her Dwarf-keeping duties.

"Aran Thranduil will undoubtedly know" Lothriel answered. "Perhaps he will tell you over dinner, you will be dining alone with him after you are dressed." And that was all Cella needed to hear to send her flying off to the get started.

She loved the dimly lit atmosphere of the bathing chamber, and the way the glimmering water reflected the lamplight all over the polished stone walls, but she was almost startled to see that the inlet and outlet streams had been shut off, and the bath was filled and still. She had not taken many steps further into the room to investigate when she gasped as hands gripped her shoulders from behind and stopped her.

"Do you need some help, firiel" With a squeal of joy, Cella tried to turn to face him, but the Elfking held her there. "No, stand still" he said.

"What are you going to do" She was so shocked that he was there, and so overjoyed, that she forgot why she had come in.

"You do want to take a bath, do you not" He began to unfasten her gown.

"Yes, I do."

"Then you will need to be undressed first, true"

"Very true, Sire." Her dress fell to the floor, leaving her standing in her shift.

She turned partway to look at Thranduil as he carefully picked up the discarded gown and placed it aside, and she was surprised to see that he was only wearing a robe.

"Are you going to take a bath with me" But without answering her, he turned her back away from him again and removed her shift and then unbraided her hair.

"Recently" he said as his fingers worked the plait apart"you interrupted a very boring conversation, firiel, when you were wishing for me to be in here with you, do you recall" Even though she had already said that she was sorry for that, Cella felt so immediately guilty that she wanted to apologize all over again, but she could not find the words.

"You do not need to be sorry" said the Elfking as he nudged her over toward the bath. "Indeed, I want to thank you for the pleasing presentation." With that said he lifted her into the water, dropped his robe, and stepped in to join her.

Thranduil's large supple fingers were incredibly gentle as he washed her hair. He had placed her before him on the built-in bench beneath the water, which was wide enough to allow her room to sit between his spread legs, while he slowly worked the soapy liquid from one of the bottles that lined the tub into her scalp. They talked.

"What do your subjects think of me" After speaking with Lothriel, she felt a little safer in asking him such a question.

"Many of them are fascinated with the way your cheeks turn pink on occasion" he told her. "They are so unused to mortals that they think it an appealing ability on your part."

"But it is embarrassing, do they know that"

"They say that it makes your eye-color more intense and in a most amazing fashion, and some openly wish that they could duplicate the behavior on demand." She had to giggle at the thought. Her eyes were quite ordinary compared to the perpetually bright eyes of the Fair Folk. But to be envied for blushing was hard to believe.

"Hold your breath and close your eyes" Thranduil warned before he lifted her off of the built-in bench and dunked her under the water a few times to rinse her hair. She trusted him not to drop her backwards into the water, and to know when to pull her back out so she could breathe.

Afterwards, they traded places and he let her wash his wonderful glossy mane. Cella had to perch all the way up on the edge of the tub and out of the water, while he remained sitting on the built in bathing seat, in order to reach him from a better angle, but she did not mind. She would have sat on glass to be able to get her hands into his wet hair.

Thranduil suggested that she fold a towel to sit on in order to protect her bared bottom from the cool, hard surface of the carved stone. She felt queenly seated on her cushion above him, and it was fun to rub her feet along his thighs under the water while she lathered his head.

She grew a little anxious when the Elfking held himself under the surface for what seemed an unreasonable length of time before emerging, rinsed off and glorious to behold in the flickering lamplight.

With a naughty grin, Thranduil made her stay where she was sitting while he slowly soaped and rinsed her legs and feet. Then he sat back on the bathing bench and drew her down to his lap so that he could wash the rest of her.

"You are beautiful, little star" he said as he held one of her breasts in his hand and admired it.

"You make me feel beautiful."

Together they slid off of the bench and moved into the deeper part of the tub. The weightlessness of floating in the water added to the light-headed way his kisses made her feel as she clung to him.

Every so often, his hand would slide between her legs and he would tease her there with his fingers. It would always take her by surprise and make her feel weak all over.

And each time, before she could react quickly enough to squeeze her thighs together to trap his slippery hand there, he would pull it away from her... until she thought that she would go mad. Helplessly, she finally made a noise of displeasure at the tactic, and he whispered into her ear.

"Not yet."

t b c


	41. Chapter 41?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 41

Their bodies seemed to melt together under the warm water, and the friction-free sensation sometimes made it hard for Cella to tell where she began and the Elfking ended. He had hooked one arm over the edge of the carved tub to support them in the deepest part of the bath, and their natural buoyancy did the rest of the work.

Pressed against him, face to face, and torso to torso, Cella floated on top with her legs between his thighs. But she wanted more. At least, more than just his kisses, which were wonderful, or an occasional intimate caress, which was becoming increasingly frustrating.

However, before she became heated to the point of no return, Thranduil stopped kissing her. He had other ideas about bathing. Much to her displeasure, and without saying why, he lifted her off of him and climbed out of the water. Next to the tub, on a table, was a covered tray with a squat ceramic jug next to it, which he headed for.

Happy to wait as long as the Elfking did not leave the room, she let her eyes drink him in while resting her chin on the back of her folded arms. She hung on the tub's edge and the rest of her floated. His dripping wet body was a lovely view.

When Thranduil first stepped out, the bathwater cascaded nicely off of his lean frame, streaming down over the smooth skin of his legs, and then splashed onto the floor. The cleverly spaced planks of wood beneath his feet prevented any puddles from forming, and the lamplight's wavering glow illuminated him perfectly. With a sigh, Cella envied every glittering drop of water that clung stubbornly to his burnished skin.

With a comical dramatic flourish, reminiscent of the courtly Dwarves with their over-elegant bows, the Elfking lifted the tray's lid to reveal a platter covered in cheese, which was sliced in wedges and arranged in a pattern to resemble an enormous flower with many petals. There was a pile of fat berries in the center of the blossom and small red apples and velvety brown figs lined the outside. It was so pretty that Cella clapped to see it.

"I have noticed," he told her, "that you enjoy eating while you are bathing."

"That was just for breakfast," protested Cella, who did not want the Elfking to think that she was completely mad. "I was so hungry that I couldn't wait to eat, but I didn't want my bath to get cold either." She smiled at him and added, "My first bath, that is."

"I believe it is an excellent idea, no matter which bath is taken" Thranduil replied lightly.

As she watched him, feeling tickled by his efforts to amuse her, the Elfking brought the platter over and set it on the edge of the tub, along with the jug and a single wine bowl, which she supposed they would share.

"I am not very hungry," she said as he climbed back in to the bath and pulled her over to sit beside him on the carved seat inside of the tub. Cella was not thinking of the food at all when she said it. Instead of responding, he picked up a small paring knife nestled among the cheese petals and peeled and quartered a fig.

"You need to keep up your strength." The Elfking tucked a morsel of the sliced fig between her lips. The bit of fleshy fruit was so sweet that it made her mouth pucker a little at first. It was very good, and it turned out that she was hungrier than she had thought. He was always right.

After she bravely drank from the wine bowl, to wash the mouthful down, she was prompted to squeeze her face up in a sour expression and could not stop it. Her eyes watered. Thranduil chuckled but he spoke sympathetically to her.

"Have some cheese," he offered.

She took the small yellow chunk from his hand and was pleasantly surprised to find that the nutty flavor of the mellow cheese helped to cut the sour aftertaste of the wine. It was delicious.

Next came a few juicy blueberries, and she enjoyed them the most. He would tuck them between her lips and then leave his finger there, each time, a moment longer than necessary. She loved the sensation of his fingertip on her tongue. Soon she felt that she must resemble a squirrel, with fattened cheeks, because she had so many berries in her mouth.

Juice ran from the corner of her mouth, which Thranduil pointed out to her with a clucking tongue. Then he licked it off of her before she could wipe it away. He let her put berries into his mouth, too, only he held onto her finger with his teeth when she tried to pull it back out from his lips.

"Ouch," she whispered. When he kissed her, she could taste the berry juice, and the wine that he had been drinking. She drank a little more of it now, too, and then nibbled on the buttery cheese afterwards to cut the tartness. Following this combination each time with a piece of fig or apple, and an occasional kiss from the king, made her feel royally fed.

"I don't want any more cheese, Sire." Cella was not near to feeling full, but she did not want to eat anything else. Or drink. He lifted his eyebrows inquisitively as he offered a berry, but she pursed her lips tight and shook her head firmly. However, she had to smile at him when he asked:

"No more berries, either?"

"I am turning all wrinkled." She held up her puckering fingertips to prove her words. "We mortals have frail bodies, Majesty." He chuckled at her words as he helped her out of the tub.

"Frail?" Thranduil quirked his mouth to one side as he swathed her in a large fluffy towel and began to rub her dry. He continued, "This particular mortal body is as frail as one of the naugrim's ponies, I vow." He left her standing while he wrapped a towel around his waist.

After his words sank all the way in, Cella gasped and then glared over at the Elfking, who quickly stepped back to her side and kissed her. "Did I forget to tell you," he added, "that this 'frail' body is also much more shapely and desirable than any other body I have seen?"

"Yes, you forgot to say that." Cella pretended to pout but then she had to smile again as he slowly removed her towel and then openly admired her from head to toe. Every inch of her tingled as his eyes touched her. She wished he would take his own towel off.

"Nonetheless," Thranduil said, "it is true that your skin is delicate." As he spoke, he led her with him to the bench that was carved out of the living stone of the walls. "And I have been advised that it calls for special attention in order to keep it healthy." He sat on the bench and brought her to stand between his spread knees.

"And here I thought you knew nothing about mortals and their skin?" Although Cella had a feeling that Lothriel was responsible for imparting this information to her monarch, she enjoyed the opportunity to tease him a little bit. Her heart beat faster in anticipation of whatever the Elfking had planned for her frail body with its delicate skin.

"There is much about me that you do not know," explained Thranduil as he picked up a small round jar from the end of the bench, beside the pile of folded towels and washcloths, and uncorked it. "However, in this situation, it is true; I have not had much experience."

With two fingers, he scooped out a generous portion of a pearly substance from the jar. It looked just like smooth clabbered cream to Cella, and was milky white perhaps, but appeared golden-tinted in the lamplight.

After putting the dollop on his palm, the Elfking rubbed his hands together to warm the mysterious creamy lotion. However, despite his efforts, Cella still jumped a little from the touch of cool moistness on his fingers when he began to apply it to her, but she grew used to it. He started with her feet, bringing each one up in turn to sit on his knee in order to reach her soles, which he tickled to make her giggle.

The lotion was carefully applied to each leg as Thranduil worked his way up to Cella's torso. He turned her away from him to treat her back and bottom, and then turned her around to face him again as he finished with her arms and hands. Each separate finger was given an equal measure of attention that every other part of her had been given. She did not know what kept her standing up when he was finished.

His touch alone was always thrilling to her, but with the added slippery smoothness from the creamy lotion, this time his stroking hands had transported her past desire and all the way to bliss. Cella's very bones were humming with pleasure. His magical touch had reached that deeply within her. For several moments after he was finished, she remained standing still while she enjoyed the way that her body felt, as if it was glowing.

The Elfking lifted her hands in his, palm up, to show her that all of the water-induced wrinkles had vanished, and her fingers were soft but normal-looking, now. She rubbed them together and marveled. His gentle voice only added to the experience.

"Did you want to learn the latest tidings of the whereabouts of your uncle and the rest of the party traveling here from the vineyard?"

"Hmm?" At first, Cella was not even sure she knew what Thranduil was referring to with his question. What uncle, and from where? "Oh," she said after thinking about it. "Yes, I do want to know about him, them, are they near?" She bit her lip, ready to hear bad news.

"Not very near. They will not arrive for a few more hours." He smiled up into her eyes, and she remembered the time he had sat on a different bench and healed her legs after their long horse ride, and how she had decided to not move from where she stood, between his legs like this, to see what he would do. At that time, he had invited her to sit next to him, but not this time.

Because she did not wait to be invited, but straddled him, with her knees on either side of his thighs, and her hands draped around his neck.

"A few hours?" Cella asked innocently, as if nothing else unusual was taking place. But she removed one of her arms from his neck and slipped that hand down his chest, over his flat abdomen, and then even lower. Through the thick fabric of the towel he wore around his waist, she found and gripped the hardness she felt there.

"Will you take this off now, please?" She tugged at the towel that was all that separated her from him.

"You are not frail in spirit, either, firiel." But he sounded proud of her.

It was only a matter of a small adjustment on his part to release himself, which meant she did not have to get off of his lap first. And she did not complain about the remaining folds from the towel that were trapped beneath her thighs, mostly because she did not notice anything else besides the warm firm flesh that she held in her hand.

"What are you going to do with that?" His voice was hoarse, yet controlled. But just barely, so she grinned.

"This," she said as she lifted herself up to place him within her.

"Gil dhannen dithen nín," he whispered and then kissed her as she settled herself down upon him, sheathing him within her to the hilt.

"Aran nín," she sighed when he stood up, holding her legs wrapped around him, so that she would not hurt her bared knees on the hard stone bench. To her, it was almost like being in the water again, with the same feeling of weightlessness as she was lifted into the air.

"Don't drop me," she managed to say, even though she knew he would not.

"Have no fear," he reassured her.

She found that she was easily able to support herself by clinging to his hips with her thighs, and he had to only keep one arm to help hold her there against him, while with his other he tipped her backwards slightly and then bent himself over to reach her breasts with his mouth.

The Elfking was so strong that he was able to lift and lower her on himself with just one of his large hands cupping her bottom, but slowly, until she moaned wordlessly. She was past fearing being dropped and was rapidly moving toward ecstasy. He straightened and lifted her back up to kiss her, crushing her mouth with his as he groaned in release. She was not far behind.

Once the danger of her knees being battered against the stony surface had passed, Thranduil returned to the bench with her still attached to him. They sat quietly for a while, catching their breath. Finally Cella broke the silence.

"I think I need another bath." But she had to settle for a quicker, although delicious, sponge bath. This was fine with her, because now that she was no longer focused on satisfying her new found appetite for the Elfking, her old one had returned, and she was famished. The bits of fruit and cheese may have given her the strength for their passionate exercising, but that was about all. Her tummy growled as she stood in front of Thranduil while he wiped her clean.

"Excuse me," she murmured, wishing that she was not a mortal. He bent and kissed the growling part.

"We will have dinner in my chambers," Thranduil told her. He rose to stand next to her and draped the large towel around her again. Then, after he guided her to sit down on the bench, he put on his tunic while he continued speaking, "As soon as you are dressed, that is."

She sat and stared unabashedly at him, delighted to watch him pull his leggings on and then his boots over them. He bent to kiss her before he stepped out into the corridor, but he was not gone long before he leaned back in to speak to her. Cella figured that there must have been someone waiting outside of the door, and felt instantly embarrassed. She hoped that the thick wooden door was soundproof.

"Wait here, Lothriel will be in to help you dress." The Elfking flashed her one last dazzling smile before he turned and left her alone there, closing the door behind him.

And it was as if his presence had provided the necessary energy she needed to keep her spine straight. For as soon as he was gone, Cella slumped over sideways onto the bench. She lay there with her face pressed against the cool stone surface, dazed and happy, for several moments, until she heard the door open again.

No longer shy about her intimate relationship with their king, she sat up to greet Lothriel cheerfully. And because she was eager to return to Thranduil's side she required little help with getting her gown on, and she sat very still to have her hair brushed.

"How are the Dwarves getting along?" Cella wondered if they had done anything yet to get themselves thrown into the Elfking's dungeons. The Elleth sounded relieved to tell Cella that Legolas had taken over their care for the evening, and had a few barrels of ale brought up from the cellars and delivered right to the guest chambers.

"They have an insatiable capacity for the brew," Lothriel explained with a shake of her head. "But that is all for the good," she continued. "Fortunately they are happy to stay in their rooms for as long as we can keep their bowls filled with it."

There had been a welcome feast planned for the Dwarves, after all, but it had to be postponed. Thranduil told her this as he escorted her through the corridors to his private chambers, deep within the palace. She anticipated seeing even more luxury in her surroundings and was surprised to find that the royal areas of the underground halls were not much fancier, and in some ways more subdued, than the rest of it.

Once they were within his rooms, however, Cella could see that there was more of a grand, understated elegance within than in any other part of the cavernous palace. There were, perhaps, fewer cozy touches, such as rugs and wall hangings, but the bared stone was polished and decorated with streaks of revealed ores and natural pockets of glittering crystals.

Torches were placed to illuminate these features, and Cella was enchanted. The dining room they ate in had candles on the table, and a fireplace in the corner, and a table small enough that she could reach over and touch him without stretching, when she had to.

According to Thranduil, the road weary group of otherwise sturdy naugrim had been very impressed with their accommodations in the caves and ultimately satisfied to the point that they were not willing to leave their chambers, or their comfortable beds. At least not without a fight.

The image of the probably tipsy Dwarves standing in their beds, wearing nightshirts, and wielding battle-axes, flickered through Cella's mind and she laughed out loud to think of them that way. Thranduil chuckled along with her, amused by her thoughts.

"That must mean that Lothriel did a good job, then?" she asked. "She was so worried about making a mistake." She had to wonder how much the ale had to do with the Dwarves' reluctance to leave their chambers, but she did not say so.

"It is not that difficult to please the longbeards," he informed her. "However, in this instance, Lothriel has surpassed herself, and I am sure that her mentor will be just as pleased as I am with her accomplishments in his absence."

"Her mentor?"

"My seneschal, Thaladir, has had her in rigorous training for centuries, even in the darkest years, for the day that these halls might again have guests to entertain, and he would be in need of her assistance."

The Elfking went on to explain how each member of his household also had to train someone who could replace them in time of need, a necessary measure throughout the constant years of assault by the enemy. No one could be considered indispensable during a war.

"And now, in this time of watchful peace," Thranduil continued, "that original design has proved fortuitous, and has allowed me to move a large part of my household to my vineyard in Erebor without any noticeable change in the running of my realm here."

"You were very wise to think of that, Sire."

"I can not claim credit for the idea," Thranduil replied dryly. "But then the one who did propose it would never allow me to credit him either, so the point is moot." He said no more about it and she asked no questions.

Nonetheless, Cella did not need any further clues to guess at who he was referring to. It had to have been Lothriel's mentor, the noble but stern Elf from the vineyard, Thaladir. And it was obvious to her that the wise seneschal had done well in training an adequate replacement in case of his own absence.

"Are you happy that the rest of your household will be here soon?" Cella would be happy to see them all again. The stern Elf had always made her feel safe when he was nearby in the vineyard, if not intimidated if ever he turned his attention toward her. But that was not his fault.

More and more, she was missing her uncle, too, even though she still felt torn about his arrival. On the one hand, she was keenly aware of his absence, and on the other, she felt apprehensive about whatever it was that Thranduil had in mind to say to him about them.

And then there were the others, the merry Elf Himbor, his sister Glawareth, and the soft-spoken Nandirn. She looked forward to seeing them, too. But, what would they think and say once they learned about her and the Elfking, if anything? She grew quiet.

"Eat your meal, firiel," Thranduil said kindly. "Let me worry about the rest."

"Yes, Sire." It was not at all difficult to trust him when he smiled at her that way.

t b c

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! And a special thanks to all of the Elfking's loyal fans!


	42. Chapter 42?

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 42

Sitting at the table with Thranduil, eating and talking, was for Cella the richest reward of her evening alone with him thus far. In the bath, she had been too excited by the unfolding events, not to mention being naked with him, to actually appreciate just being together. Like she could now, and there were no more questions about her place in his life to trouble her mind.

With all of their clothes on, it felt more real somehow; the fact that he had opened both his arms and his heart to her. It was also comforting that he enjoyed her company enough that he did not want any others near. She did feel treasured, as Lothriel had said she was.

While they ate their supper, Cella wondered about the lack of servants to wait on Thranduil in his own wing of the Mirkwood palace. At first, when he had told her where they would be dining, she had imagined that there would be an army of Elves lining the walls, all of them eager to serve their beloved monarch. She had been glad to find that there was nothing like that.

Instead, there were only the familiar sentries who stood silent and unmoving at the doorway and the same quiet helpful Elf who showed up from time to time in her suite, with Lothriel. But even he was alone.

He was already there in the dining room when they entered, and Cella could only assume that he had been responsible for laying out their meal, but he left soon after. When Thranduil brought her to the table, the Elf had smiled and courteously nodded at her, but he did not speak at all. She finally asked about his name, which was Nenrandir, but not until after he was gone, as she was not sure if it would be polite to ask while he was present.

"He is always so quiet," she said off-hand, not meaning much by it beyond an observation of what was unarguably true. Even though her knowledge of Elves was still somewhat limited and her time among them brief, it was hard not to notice that there were differences in the way the ones at the vineyard behaved compared to the ones who lived here.

The Elves she had become acquainted with there, like Himbor and Lanthiriel, neither of whom were excessively talkative, had been chatty in comparison to any she had met in the caves, beside Legolas. Of course, the seneschal could talk long, but only when he was imparting something of value or necessity, otherwise he rarely spoke.

On the other hand, even the vineyard's Elves were practically silent next to Uncle Dwain, or her friends Milda and Ingarde. All three of them loved to remark on whatever they were doing, feeling, or thinking, at any given moment, or about what they knew someone else was doing. There had been a constant commentary.

It was not as if Mirkwood was completely silent. Music that was as hauntingly beautiful as the occasional impromptu concerts had been back in the Elfking's mansion, or out in the gardens of the vineyard, could be heard drifting through the corridors here. And on the night of her welcome feast, the place had been filled with the sounds of merrymaking. But there was no one here reporting 'heard tells' around the clock, that was for sure.

"There is not much reason to make unnecessary noise in these halls." Thranduil's words interrupted her thoughts just as she was reaching the edge of feeling sad that her friends were not here with her, and that she may possibly never see them again.

"I can see how there wouldn't be a need," said Cella, sharply reminded by the Elfking's words of his ability to know her thoughts, and not necessarily by reading her mind. But she did not care as much as she once did, him sensing what she was thinking, or feeling. In fact, she was growing used to it quickly. And it was beginning to feel good.

It was a relief also to be able to openly and flagrantly love him without the need to mask or hide her heart. To smile directly into his eyes, and not feel afraid of him rejecting her affection, was so delightful that she was sure she would never grow used to it. She constantly returned to that realization, and let herself feel it all over again, the wonder of being able to love Thranduil without restraint. Forever, as he had promised.

When he chuckled she asked him, "Are you reading my thoughts?"

"If you could see them like I can, then you would not blame me," he said, "They shine through my mind as brightly as the light that sparkles and flashes from a white gem in the mid-day sun."

And even though Cella was not exactly sure what that would be like, she was very sure it was a compliment by the look on his face as he said it.

"I think I like it, that you can," she said. The silent Nenrandir returned to bring more wine, and dessert, and then left swiftly. He did not even lift his eyes to his monarch or Cella. There were no signs of Thranduil mentally directing the Elf, not that she was sure she could tell if he was.

But she decided that mind-reading was not necessarily the reason for the silence of these Elves within the Mirkwood halls. After untold centuries of daily routine, it was apparent that no one needed to be reminded to do anything if they had done it thousands of times before.

And it must also be true that every possible comment that could be made about any situation that could happen had probably already been said, and more than once, by every Elf in the caves. How bored they must be with it all, or, to be fair, perhaps so appreciative about living in this glorious palace, that words no longer could express their gratitude.

Or it could be that the Elves of Mirkwood were just willing to wait patiently until there was a good reason to speak, unlike her friends. And there was nothing wrong with that.

When the meal was over, Thranduil rose and offered his hand to draw her from her seat. After kissing her, too quickly she thought, he led her back into his chambers. Nenrandir was there, with a basin, a jug of hot water, and some clean towels, for them to wash their faces and hands with.

"Wait here," the Elfking said when they were done with that, "and Legolas will bring you down to the gates."

Bewildered by his words, and by the prospect of being left by herself, she felt compelled to protest. Thranduil laid a forefinger on her lips before she could speak.

"You will not be left alone," he said as he lifted her hand to his lips before letting go of it. He opened the door leading back out into the main corridor, and in stepped Lothriel. She had Cella's cape draped over one arm, and she was carrying some mysterious packages that were wrapped in paper.

"How are our guests doing?" The Elfking paused in the doorway as he asked, as if he was about to leave but thought better of it.

"They are all asleep, Sire," replied the Elleth with a tone of something like relief in her normally placid voice.

"Excellent, leave them to it," he said. The door was standing wide open, and Legolas slipped in past Lothriel and came to Cella's side.

"It is good to see you alive and well, wood-sprite," he greeted her. "I have been worried about you ever since you were abducted from my side in the forest."

Thranduil stepped over to them and then leaned slightly closer to his son, sniffed loudly, and said, "You have been drinking ale with the longbeards."

"Aye, Your Majesty," Legolas replied, proud of himself. "Those Dale folk are terribly stuck on themselves, are they not? There must have been a dozen toasts to each and every member of Dain's esteemed family tree, may his never-ending beard grow ever longer."

"Maer," Good, replied the Elfking, just as proudly. "Bring Celiel to the gates when she is ready, we will meet there." He was gone.

After Thranduil left the room, Lothriel helped Cella into her cloak. The paper-wrapped packages had been set aside.

"Thank you," said Cella, and then she added, "His Majesty is very pleased with you. Has he told you that?"

"It is my honor to serve aran Thranduil to the best of my ability, Celiel," responded Lothriel humbly. "And yes, he did say that he was pleased." She smiled warmly and Cella felt honored by that gesture, and to have such a lovely companion.

"Your uncle draws near," remarked Legolas, as if had just at that moment sensed it, just like his father. "I look forward to meeting him."

"I think he will love to meet you," said Cella. "And I know he will love you as much as I do."

"Look, these were made for you," Lothriel gently interrupted. In her hands she held a pair of light grey colored gloves, and she appeared fascinated by them, as if she had not seen any before. Cella took them from her and pulled one on, each of her fingers fit snugly within. The turned-out fur cuffs spoke of the fleecy interior, her hand was embraced in warmth.

"They are so soft." She rubbed the fur cuff on her face. And then Lothriel brought her something even nicer. Fur lined boots. Someone had worked hard to make these for her, the workmanship and decorative detail spoke of many laborious hours, and yet they had never been worn before.

With her mind's eye, she could see hands cutting the pelt of the small animal used to make them and careful fingers stitching them together. "This can't be happening to me," she said. She had to sit down to pull the boots on, and suddenly felt weak, and on the edge of tears. The Elfprince knelt on one knee in front of her.

"What is the matter, wood-sprite?" The gentleness of Legolas' voice was only excelled by his father's. And it was calming enough that she could answer him.

"I am not worthy of this..." As evidence, she lifted her gloved hands when she began, and then faltered. Finally she could say, "Your father is too generous, I am not used to so many gifts at once. And all the work that I am making for someone..." Cella could not finish.

"You are more than worthy," admonished the Elfprince. "You are honored among us for the good you have done. We all derive the benefits of your presence within our halls." As he spoke, he stood and pulled her to stand.

"Then the other Elves don't mind that I am here, it doesn't matter to them?" Even though Thranduil had not indicated otherwise, she still was not sure. She continued, "I mean they all must know about your mother." Even if she would not expect anyone there to treat her with hostility, she worried that her presence might be considered a hardship, with all the extra work required to tend to her needs as a weak mortal being.

"It is obvious to them that my father cherishes you, and that is not hard to understand, for you are very dear," replied Legolas with a smile. "And the happiness that your enchantment evokes from him was felt within these halls before we had even heard of you. We are all grateful for it."

As she listened, nearly dumbfounded, he explained how a sense of relief had been felt in the halls as the Elfking drew nearer to his home those few nights ago. That was not unusual, it was actually quite normal, for his absence was always a time of trial for his realm. No matter how close his vineyard might be located, he was sorely missed.

But this time there was an undeniable difference in the air. A lightness of spirit that all of the subjects could feel, and rejoice in. Aran Thranduil was approaching, he was almost home, and he was happy. They could not wait to find out why.

"Too long had my father suffered alone and silently, out of my reach, all of our reach," he said, with a wave of his hand when he said the word 'all' to indicate the entire kingdom. And her heart tilted over from the pain of hearing it. She recalled when Legolas had told her about how rarely Thranduil had ever smiled, and she did not like to think of how grim that must have been for everyone, including the Elfking himself.

"He could not have always been sorrowful and withdrawn," she said. "Or you could not be so kind or as friendly as you are." She felt that it was only proper to admit that she knew next to nothing about raising children, but she had lived long enough to know that happy adults in the mortal realms normally had a happy childhood. It could not be that much different among the Fair Folk.

"My father has always reserved part of himself from me, but you are correct, he has not always been dour and he was always a good father." Legolas smile changed slightly, growing almost dreamy, as he spoke as if recalling a happier time.

"But not long after I had reached my full adulthood," he continued as he led her out into the corridor, "it seemed that he had exhausted whatever strength he had been graced with in order to be fully present with me, and truly alive, during my growing years."

As they made their way to the gates, Legolas told her how, as he had gotten older and more capable of running his own affairs, he had also begun to notice his father slip away more and more frequently into gloomy thoughts. And he would not take comfort from his son, or from any of those around him who were closest to him, and loved him. And they all wished to ease his heart.

However, their efforts were usually in vain, and little by little, year after year, he had grown ever gloomier, and remained deep within his realm, at ease only among the Elves within his dark halls or those who dwelt in the woodland.

The Elfking only went out of his gates at night, or early in the morning to hunt, but stayed indoors for most of the day. He held himself away from the rest of the world beyond the borders of his forest, trusted no one, and he was angered by anyone who dared trespass without his permission.

"At that time, he would not have even considered investing in an acre of ground beyond the forest, let alone purchasing his own vineyard." Legolas shook his head and chuckled. Then he said, "But before we all completely despaired of his ever taking an interest in the rest of the world again, a curious thing happened to shake him out of his gloomy habits. Can you guess what it was?"

His voice had taken on a suddenly cheerful note, as if he was about to tell her a good joke. It took her a moment to realize that he had asked her a question after the sorrowful image of the Elfking had filled her view. She was filled with an urge to rush to Thranduil's side instantly, where ever he was right then, and embrace him.

"No, I can not guess," she told him, for she could not even think what would have cheered the proud monarch, if even his own charming son could not.

"A party of lost dwarves wandered into the forest," said the Elfprince, and then, as if it was the punch line of his joke, he added, "And one brave little hobbit."

This was all up until that battle she had learned about, with the five armies, at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. And that was also when, according to his son, Thranduil first began to shake off the melancholy he bore stoically through those dark times, as if the war had woken him from a slumber of poisonous enchantment.

"It had been horrible before that," the younger Elf said, "he was bitter beyond all hope as far as we could tell, and until the end of all time for all we knew. Because he was always strong, so strong, and he had kept us all alive through the most dreadful of those dark times by the sheer power of his will to not fail, to not lose, and to hold off the enemy for as long as he was still alive and able to protect those he swore to serve."

"Those he swore to serve?" For a moment, Cella was confused, for she thought that the Elfprince must be referring to some higher authority than his father. Unless he merely was saying that Thranduil made this vow ceremoniously, to serve the Valar. But how could he protect the gods?

"My father swore to serve his people just as his people in turn swore to serve him as their king," explained Legolas. "And that is the only way that each could have survived through both the times of assaults from our enemies outside of our gates and the inner turmoil of the palace during time of war. He only lived for one thing it seemed, to keep his subjects and the forest alive."

They had reached the gates, which were standing open. There were some Elves at the bottom of the stairs below them, but she could not see Thranduil. The night sky glittered with stars and the air was frosty cold. She mentally sent a message of gratitude to the Elfking for her warm feet and hands.

Cella understood what Legolas was saying. It was as His Majesty had told her. How he drew energy from his entire realm and then gave it back, somehow, magically. Legolas went on to tell her how, when his father had marched off in pursuit of the Dwarves, he had been moved by the plight of the mortals by the Long Lake whose homes had been destroyed by the dragon, Smaug. So moved that he had delayed his march to give what assistance he could.

"After that time, he began to show an interest in the world around him again. But he was still unwilling to allow himself much time for merriment. He met with mortals from the regions nearby, and came to know them better, and eventually took more of an interest in dealing directly with them."

Before then, his father had agents who carried out his business for him, Legolas went on to explain. After the great battle, he formed friendships and alliances with some of the merchants at Laketown and Dale. Consequently, he eventually bought a vineyard, and but for that, she would have never met him.

And all because of the funny hobbit creature. She was amused to think of it. Her uncle had told her once how the smallest things were capable of leaving the most impressive footprints, depending on where they traveled. It made sense now.

"Adar deserves to live happily here, while he is with us, now." The Elfprince said this softly as if he had forgotten she was there, and was speaking to some unknown person. But then he focused on her again as he spoke. "We all need our king to be as whole and happy as he can be, Celiel, not just me. The happiness of his kingdom depends on it. As we all depend on him for everything, and he on us."

From the distance, through the clear night air, out in the forest, came the sound of voices raised in a song. It was not the usual type of singing that she sometimes heard from the telain, which was lyrical and unobtrusive. The tune was one she recognized from the vineyard, one of the many boisterous songs that were often used to pass time.

"Come," said the most beloved voice in her world, and right next to her ear, which sent shivers down her spine, "let us go greet your uncle. I know he will be very pleased to see you."

The Elfking guided her through the gates and down the stairs. Torches lit the area, and the air was so still that their flames barely moved. After they had reached the landing, and stood with the other Elves who were waiting there, she was glad that he released her arm, and let her stand by herself. Although she was still beside him.

She was not sure that Uncle Dwain would have felt disturbed if he had seen Thranduil touching her when the wagons finally drew near enough for that, but she did not want to take any chances that might mar the happiness of their seeing each other again.

There were two Elves on horseback who flanked the wagons on the road until they reached the bridge, then rode on ahead of the slower moving vehicles. They were Thaladir, and Nandirn, and they were the only ones who were not singing. A large group of Elves were on foot behind the heavily laden wagons, but they sang along just as cheerfully as the rest.

Wood-elves had spilled out of the huts and trees, and many of them greeted family members who were leaping off of the wagons as they maneuvered into place before where the Elfking stood with his court, and Cella.

She heard her uncle, long before she saw him; his voice rang clear above the singers. "Cella? Do you see her? Is that her? Cella?" She had to laugh when she could finally distinguish him as he tried to see over the heads of the taller Elves in the wagon, or around them, to spot her in the shadowy courtyard. She lifted her hand, and was rewarded with a happy shout.

"There she is! Stop the wagon! I see her," her uncle shouted excitedly, but the wagon slowly pulled into place beside the others, and he had to wait to be helped down. Without thinking, Cella nearly ran from Thranduil's side as she suddenly found she could not bear being parted from Uncle Dwain for even one more minute.

As he was helped to the ground, someone handed him a walking stick, which he leaned on as he embraced her with his other arm. "Ah, dear child, dear child," was all he could say for a time, then, backing away from her, he said, "Let me look at you. Don't you look fine, now? I think you've put on some weight!"

"It wouldn't surprise me," another familiar voice came from the crowd who still remained in the wagon. A quietly attentive audience for the meeting of uncle and niece. Cella gasped but the voice continued speaking, "I always said the Elves would take good care of her."

With a small, inarticulate cry, Cella jerked her head back to her uncle, who had an oddly guilty look in his eye before he glanced away from her, and toward the direction of the voice in the wagon.

It was Milda! But how? And why? Cella looked back over her shoulder at the Elfking, who smiled at her. She wondered if he had known about this, and had not told her for a surprise. It would be like him to do that.

But she forgot about Thranduil after her friend almost tumbled from the wagon in her eagerness to get down to Cella's side, and then delivered a firm hug.

"I hope you're happy to see me, Cella," said Milda, almost pleadingly, as she possessively took hold of Uncle Dwain's free elbow. "I've come to live with the Elves, too."

t b c


	43. Chapter 43

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 43

As silent as a mouse, Cella sat on the footstool in front of the fire in the Elfking's den, and alternated between feeling terrified and mystified. The fire crackled merrily beside her, just as it had done the night her feet had gotten too cold, and Thranduil had warmed them here. It seemed an eternity ago.

He had sat right on the same stool where she was now sitting, and she had been in the chair. For the moment, she recalled that night, and how frustrated she was with him then, the last time they had been in this room, and she smiled. She glanced over at the small animal carvings on the shelves and enjoyed seeing them again from the other side of womanhood. Although, she had to admit to herself, they did not look much different.

Her uncle sat in the large chair now, with a bowl of wine in his fist and an ear-splitting grin on his face. She had never seen him look happier as he regaled the room with the story of the journey in the wagons from the vineyard to the Mirkwood gates.

In great detail, he reported all of the various mishaps and misfortunes, small annoyances mostly, that had delayed them along the way. Interspersed among the various woes, he told of some of the interesting things that he had seen from his vantage point in the wagon, and his opinion on the forest itself. "A bit darkish".

Milda, who sat beside him on the wide arm of the chair, helped fill in the blanks whenever he paused to draw a breath and it was as if they were all back at the vineyard.

But Cella barely heard a word being said, and her pleasant memory of her chilly bare feet in Thranduil's warm magical hands provided only a brief respite from the reality she faced tonight. Now that her uncle was here, she knew that at some point, possibly soon, His Majesty was going to tell him about... she was not very sure exactly what he was going to tell, only that it was going to be the truth. About them.

That was scary to Cella, for she was not sure how her uncle would react to learning about her intimate relations with this Elfking, while she was supposedly under said Elfking's royal care and protection.

She hoped, and was almost certain, that Uncle Dwain would not be angry, or hateful. But she was sure that he would be disappointed, at the very least. And when she imagined the look in his eyes at the moment he learned the truth about her, she felt spasms of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Besides herself and Milda, her uncle Dwain's attentive audience consisted of the tall elf, Thaladir, the mysterious, gray clad sometimes baby-sitting Nandirn, Legolas, and of course Thranduil.

The Elfprince had pulled another chair from a corner and sat in it next to the fire as well. His long legs stretched out before him reminded her of his father's. The two Elves who were freshly returned from the vineyard, the impeccable Thaladir and the elegant Nandirn, sat close to them on the inevitable bench, there was not a room in Mirkwood that did not have such seating carved into at least one wall.

As the gracious host, the Elfking made sure that all who wanted it had wine, and were comfortably seated, before he poured his own bowl. The quiet Nenrandir arrived bearing a tray, and refreshments were served to the weary travelers; there was tea for Milda and Cella, and some seed-covered buns and honey cakes.

After Nenrandir left the room, Thranduil stood next to the hearth, right beside her, close enough to touch, as he listened respectfully, and with some amusement, to his newly arrived houseguests as they reported on their travels through his forest. His arm rested on the mantle and in his other hand was his own wine-bowl. Soon after he had positioned himself there, it became easier for Cella to breathe.

She believed that it was only his steady presence that kept her calm after that. Maybe he could reach out to her in some silent way; she was beginning to feel this was true. Whatever the reason, her trepidation, as usual, subsided when she considered him being so close to her. And she was more able to think clearly.

However, she could not dwell for long on fearing the inevitable reaction from her uncle when she also considered the new mystery before her in the form of her dear friend, Milda, and her arrival here with the wagons. She had still not quite gotten past her initial shock.

From what she could tell, the two of them, her uncle and her friend, might be a couple. It was hard to say without asking about it outright, which she was not willing to do while there were others around. Now that they were indoors, she was having second thoughts, and then third thoughts, and was very mystified but not too worried.

Earlier, when they were still outdoors by the wagons, Cella had been shocked to her core by the notions that came to her mind when Milda claimed her uncle's side and grabbed his arm as if she belonged there. Did she imagine a brief glimmer of bashfulness on her uncle's whiskery face when he glanced at her friend? Had that been an expression that revealed a smitten heart, maybe? Or had the torchlight been playing tricks with her eyes?

"What about Willem?" The question had escaped Cella's lips then, before she could stop it. The guilty smile that her uncle had been wearing had left his face at the question, his features tightened and his jaw clenched. He answered instead of Milda.

"We'll tell you all about it, Cella," he said quietly, almost sorrowfully. "Only not here, it is too cold to stand about outdoors talking for those of us not sporting warmer winter clothes." He nodded at the shivering Milda beside him.

His softly spoken words were all the more alarming for the way he had said them, cautiously. But the frosty air was a problem, and Cella had felt a bit guilty for her own comfort. In the wagon there had been blankets and pelts for the two of them to share, along with the body heat of the returning elves.

Once Milda was outside of the crowded warmth of the wagon bed, the chill was obviously cutting right through the shawl she wore around her shoulders. Uncle Dwain wore a good jacket, but she could see that his nose was turning reddish in the autumn night air, and when he spoke, he emitted little puffs of white steam.

By then, Thranduil had moved over beside their wagon, while greeting and being greeted by his returning subjects. And, after formally welcoming and bidding Uncle Dwain and Milda to enter his halls, he led them quickly inside with the promise of a warm fire and a bowl of wine.

Formal introductions to the rest of his household could wait until the morrow, the Elfking proclaimed, for the weary travelers were better off inside, thawing before the hearth, and at rest. Her uncle needed no introduction; really, all of the Mirkwood denizens were familiar with the name Dwain, the vintner of the wine fit only for the royal table.

Irregardless, Cella regretted the ceremony being leapt over; she enjoyed the courtly manners of the Elflords when they were put on display. Only Thaladir seemed to agree with her, but he did no more that frown slightly at the breach in protocol as he followed his monarch dutifully.

To her relief, Legolas took Cella's arm in his and walked with her. She knew her face would have turned pink if the Elfking had approached her, and grabbed a hold of her, in front of her uncle. And even if the torchlight might have disguised her reddened cheeks, she was not going to take any chances. It was up to Thranduil to reveal whatever he wanted to have revealed about them; she would follow his cue.

After sending a silent prayer that her merry escort would not make some silly remark into her ear, which would send her into a fit of giggles in her already agitated state, she was grateful for Legolas's silence. She glanced up at him only to be rewarded with his sunniest smile, and she relaxed enough to wink at him, surprising them both.

Her uncle moved with a slight limp and the Elfprince wisely slowed his own step to accommodate the pace so that Cella could be close to him as they walked. It was more noticeable at first. Uncle Dwain leaned heavily on his walking stick, but he seemed to forcing himself forward and she hoped he was not being brave in front of his royal employer.

Nonetheless, her uncle waved off any discomfort he may have been feeling when Cella expressed concern about him navigating the steep stairway up to the entrance. He swore to her that his bad leg had felt a little stiff at first, but that was to be expected after sitting still for the long ride in the wagon, and it was loosening up nicely even as they spoke.

Since the only alternative would have been to pick him up and carry him, there was nothing for her to do but hope he was as concerned about his own health as she was. But if the Elves who had tended to his healing, and his nursemaid, Milda, were not trying to stop him, then she had to concede to his wishes to progress without any more assistance than he already had. He did fine.

It was fun for Cella to watch her uncle and friend's faces after they climbed the stairs to the gates and entered the torch lit interior of the Elfking's vast underground realm with its gleaming pillars and the mirror-like floor that reflected everything like a deep, dark, motionless lake. She remembered her own awe at the sight, and at the time she had been surreptitiously seeking the presence of an Elfqueen, and had not truly had the presence of mind to appreciate fully what she saw in those first moments.

But now, it was as if she was reliving it with even more awe than she had felt the first time with them next to her, the first impression of the grandness and the beauty of the underground kingdom.

And she had an inkling of what Thranduil meant when he said that he enjoyed seeing Mirkwood from her perspective. Everything was made fresh when it was shared with new eyes.

The joy that Cella felt when her uncle disembarked from the wagon whole and healthy had made the notion, of him and Milda being a couple, unimportant for that moment. And the fun she had watching them react to the glory of Thranduil's halls made her feel too happy to even care very much if it was true.

They were here, fellow mortals, and their wide eyes and open jaws made her feel less alone in her own admiration of the Elven realm. Milda gasped and squealed at everything that Cella had wished she had been brave enough to comment out loud on when she had first arrived. Even Uncle Dwain let out a long whistle after they had climbed the next set of stairs and passed through the corridor into the palace wing.

"All of this was carved out of a mountain," she heard him mutter as they moved through the next set of pillars that supported the false dome; there was no sky above it, only more stone and earth. "I can't wait to see where the wine barrels are to go, your Worship," he added, sounding as if he would have been willing to go to work on the spot if asked.

As they gathered in the toasty warm den, with her Uncle deposited in the large chair as a seat of honor, Cella had to think again about him and Milda. Her friend was solicitous toward him as if he was an invalid and needed the extra attention. And when she sat beside him on the wide arm of the chair, it was just as likely that she wanted her feet as close to the fire as she could get them, without having to stand. She made no more advances towards him.

Besides, or so it occurred to Cella, just that Milda had been holding on to Uncle Dwain as they entered the caves did not mean much. Both of her talkative friends had always coddled her uncle, and they had been among the most concerned over the state of his health after the fire. Cella remembered how they had promised that they would not leave his side until he was ready to travel.

It was possible that an innocent friendship had developed and grown between them, because they were mortals among Elves. Just because Milda felt comfortable touching her uncle did not necessarily mean more than that.

There was also the fact that Ingarde had her stable owner to go back to, and her kinfolk's inn to tend, while Milda had only yearned to have warm feet in the winter, and now she got her wish. Maybe that was all there was to it. She was a clever one, and she had figured out how to finally be useful at the vineyard, as a caretaker for Uncle Dwain. It made sense that she could have been invited along by the Elves in order to see to him along the way... perhaps. Cella just did not want to jump to any hasty conclusions.

And it was so good to have them here, with her, that she tried to hold on to that feeling of satisfaction, because it made her warm inside, and happy. Her uncle and her friend were both to live with the Elves. Finally, after they were all comfortably situated in the den, she could let it sink in. It was almost too good for her to bear it without emotion.

Beside her, Thranduil shifted his stance, a brief and barely discernible motion that she caught from the corner of her eye, but it was almost as if he was speaking to her. Somehow, she could tell, or feel, that he was pleased that she had stopped feeling afraid. She sat absolutely still and concentrated.

Almost... she thought she could almost hear him. But like in a dream, whatever she had felt or sensed fled her mind when she tried to focus on it. And she was just sitting in front of a fireplace again.

"Your uncle did take on so, not knowing for sure how you were adjusting to your new life here." Milda's voice cut into Cella's thoughts, and for a moment she sat confused. Apparently the conversation had turned from the journey into an entirely new direction.

"I? I love it here," Cella said, a bit unsure if her response made any sense, but quite sure that it was the truth.

"That is good to hear, my dear," her uncle contributed. "We had word you made it here safe, and then we were told that His Majesty was eager for us to follow along."

"They didn't say why though," interjected Milda. "What the big hurry was. So, we got to thinking about what if something bad had happened, and you..."

"No news is good news, as I said all along," interrupted her uncle, but in a companionable manner, like he was delighted for the opportunity to say it yet one more time. Milda grinned at him, and poked his shoulder in return. At that moment, the Elfking spoke.

"Your niece needs her uncle," he said. "However, more than that, a seasoned man of the earth such as yourself must have sensed the sudden turn in the weather as you traveled through my forest this day."

"There was a distinct nip in the air, your Worship," replied her uncle agreeably. "But I have not yet developed a nose for the various types of weather in this northern clime. Rain, I can smell that, perhaps more."

"We will have an early winter," said the Elfking, adding, "Nothing too much worse than some steady rains, and perhaps a dusting of snow to cover the dead leaves. The rivers should stay running for at least a fortnight before they begin to slush and freeze over. The roads will be more difficult."

"The wine is due to arrive shortly by barge, aye." The gleam in her uncle's eyes as he discussed his favorite subject with Thranduil was brighter than when he looked at Milda. That might not mean much, either. It would take a mighty patient woman to suffer a courtship from a man who was in love with grapes.

And as her uncle talked about the arrival of the barges carrying the barrels here from Laketown, he seemed to come to life before Cella's eyes. Not that he had appeared unhealthy or not normal before that, only now his eyes were glowing, his voice had an eager tone to it, and he leaned forward in his seat.

He was not an old man at all, she realized with a start. Not young, either, but not too old to... desire. She bit her lip and stared into the fire, embarrassed by her recently educated imagination.

After a few moments, she glanced back up again and regarded Milda, who appeared to be glued to her uncle's every word. It was not as much of a shock to realize that her friend was not that young, either. Not as young as Cella was, and Milda was many, many harvest seasons the wiser about men of all ages, at any rate, and their desires. There was a pause in the conversation.

"What about Willem?" This time, Cella asked the question deliberately, instead of nearly accidentally. "What happened to him?" She added.

There was something in the cautionary tone her uncle had taken before, when he had said they would discuss this subject later, which had led her to believe there was bad news to be told. She felt ready to hear it now, if only to stall the Elfking.

Uncle Dwain and Milda looked to each other as if to somehow check if the other wanted to speak, first, before answering. Neither one of them could begin nor did they appear anxious to do so. Both appeared suddenly too weary for further words. As if waiting for this opportunity to happen, Thranduil spoke instead, and Cella braced herself.

"The hour grows late," the Elvenking remarked. "If you will excuse us," he said to the three mortals, "my advisers and I have to discuss some matters which have arisen since I have last consulted them. Lothriel will come to fetch you, when your chambers have been prepared."

For a moment, the room began to spin for Cella. Did that mean he was going to forestall informing her uncle of his decision about her, them? That was fine with her, and she nearly sobbed out loud with relief when he continued.

"If you are escorted to your rooms before I return, have a pleasant rest. I will see you all in the morning." With that said, and a last flicker of his eyes toward her, he was gone, closely followed by Thaladir and Nandirn. Leaving only Legolas behind.

But as happy as she was to not have to face the inevitable, at least not before a good night's sleep, when the door closed behind them, she missed him. When Milda asked who Lothriel was, Cella was unable to answer right away, and Legolas explained that she was the Elleth who had been put in charge of the mortal guest accommodations in the palace

Never before had Cella felt so bereft by Thranduil's unexpected absence. Without her realizing it, the Elfking had managed to steal a part of her and had taken it with him before she had felt its loss. And without it, she did not feel complete, or at rest. It must be her heart. Sternly, she lectured herself about being upset over things she could not control, and must accept. It helped a little.

She tried to feel happy with finally being alone not only with her uncle, but also her two closest friends here in Mirkwood now. Milda and Legolas. But all she could think about was whether or not she would see Thranduil again tonight. Would he dare come to her bed? He might do so after he sensed that her uncle was asleep. She could only hope.

A dreadful thought came to Cella; what if Milda was going to share her room with her tonight? It was possible, for there was no telling what the Elves imagined would be appropriate or practical. Actually, she did look forward to being with her friend, if only to have a chance to get to the bottom of all of her suspicions and to learn what had happened after she had left the vineyard with the Elfking, a subject no one had talked about.

In the flurry of His Majesty bidding them goodnight, and exiting with the other Elves, her question about Willem had gone unanswered. Afterwards, Cella was unwilling to participate in boring Legolas with a conversation about strangers to him, so she did not mention it again. They spoke now of the events of the next day; her uncle was anxious to tour the cellars, and Milda was looking forward to touring the rest of everything.

Accordingly, by the time Lothriel came to inform them that the newest guests' rooms were ready, Cella felt a little better. She was happy enough to chat with Milda as they made their way through the tapestry-covered corridors, and she told her curious friend that they would take more time inspecting the wall hangings the next day, when the royal vintner was touring his new domain in the deepest levels of the caves.

Uncle Dwain, despite his bad leg and walking stick, and Legolas had moved far ahead of them in the corridor, with Lothriel right between them. Milda felt safe about not being overheard.

"I can't wait to talk to you, Cella," she said confidentially, adding. "There's a lot to tell you." If Milda had seemed tired in the den, she was wide awake now. If they were going to share a room, then it was going to be a long night. And the Elfking would never come.

It was hard to tell who was happier to find out that there were separate guest chambers for Milda after all, she or Cella. Legolas took his leave of them as soon as they entered the pillared reception hall, with a bow to the guests and a last friendly grin at Cella.

"I think he's sweet on you, Cella," whispered Milda archly, after the Elfprince left. "Did you see the way he smiled at you?"

t b c


	44. Chapter 44?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 44

After Legolas left, Lothriel began to gracefully guide Uncle Dwain and Milda in and out of the various doorways in the pillared reception area. They were both overwhelmed by the grandness of the huge echoing hall, like Cella had been when first she had seen it, and their voices dropped to a whisper.

They admired the one shared room, a large dining room in which Cella had not yet eaten, and then their own separate bathing rooms, with their own similar pond-sized tubs carved into the stone walls. Her uncle was fascinated with the constant flow of hot and cold water streams and Milda was speechless at the luxuriousness.

And lastly the Elleth led them to their bed chambers.

Cella tagged along every step of the way and enjoyed Milda's squeals of disbelief and delight at first seeing her very own bedroom with its very own fireplace, while her uncle stayed behind in his chambers, somewhat overwhelmed by his good fortune. The Elleth left the two women after bidding them a pleasant and peaceful rest.

To Cella's distress, once they were finally alone and able to talk privately, instead of learning more about events at the vineyard, specifically the news concerning Willem, she found herself in an argument with Milda about the Elfprince.

Although Legolas was, Cella agreed, both charming and attractive, she firmly insisted that he was not at all, or in any way, interested in her romantically. And she was very sure of it. She insisted that despite all of his personal attentions to her that night, he was only behaving his normal friendly self.

"I saw you wink at him," accused Milda. She was certain this was a vital piece of irrefutable evidence proving something, "Right after he smiled at you that way, like he wanted to..."

"The King's son has been one of my best friends here, ever since I arrived," Cella interrupted before her friend could continue with her ridiculous thoughts. "And he smiled at me like that because he knew I was..."

So flabbergasted was Cella by Milda's assumptions that she nearly said more than she meant to say, about being nervous about her uncle's arrival. But she recovered and managed to remain calm as she continued.

"Both he and Lothriel have gone out of their way to make me feel comfortable here, although all day she has been busy with the other guests, poor thing. And now you are here... He knew how much I missed my uncle, and how surprised I was to see you. He was happy for me, do you see that? And I can't believe how glad I am that you came. It is good to see you, Milda. Did I tell you about the Dwarves, yet?"

But her friend would not be budged from her chosen topic quite that easily, at least not by stories about lost parties of Dwarves and the Ellith put in charge of them. The funny-looking people with their short legs and long beards were not a novelty to her. She had seen plenty of them.

"Maybe you just can't see it for yourself, but that Elf stuck to your side like your shadow," Milda pointed out. "And smiling at you like that? It's not natural for Elves to act like that, Cella, none that I've ever met anyhow. I don't care what you say."

It did not help that Uncle Dwain had stepped into the room unbeknownst to them, and overheard pieces of the conversation. He happily joined in without asking questions first, and announced proudly that he was not at all disturbed by the notion of his niece being courted by His Worship's handsome and mannerly son, not disturbed at all.

"He seems a good sort, that one," her uncle finished with one of his highest compliments, which, to Cella at least, was very disturbing. For the time being, she wondered if it might not be easier to let them both believe what they would and stop fighting it.

In her eagerness to hide the truth from her uncle, she had not thought of how it must have looked to both of them when Legolas took her arm by the wagons, and then smiled at her that sweetly. She had been so relieved at the time that it was not the Elfking who had approached her that she had not considered how his son's escorting her might be noticed as anything other than the polite gesture it was. Why did she think that the younger Elf's attentions would be less remarkable?

Her uncle had not only noticed, but had been very impressed to learn that it was the son of the King, no less, who was squiring his niece around and about the grand palatial accommodations. It was a shame, he declared, that her parents had not been there to see their daughter being treated with such respect by the Fair Folk in their marvelous caves.

And then her uncle remarked on how, when Legolas had sat next to her in front of the fireplace in the den, the King had stood between her and his son to chaperone. Uncle Dwain thought that was a mighty respectable way to run a royal house. Not that he had been worried, mind you, but it was comforting.

"Legolas is just a friend, Uncle," declared Cella nearly at the point of exasperation and simultaneously feeling swamped with guilt. "Nothing more."

"Well, give it time, brother-daughter, give it time." He seemed very sure of himself and all of a sudden she had to laugh, remembering how those very words of his had given her the courage to persist with the Elfking. 'Give it time'. It was useless to even try to prevent it from bursting out of her at this ironic twist to the woefully misguided match-making attempts of her uncle.

"You laugh now," he said, somewhat injured at her mirth, "but mark my words."

"Yes, uncle, I will," she promised, when she could finally talk in a normal voice.

After Cella had shown an appropriate amount of awe over Milda's room, and then Uncle Dwain's following that, which were both nearly identical to her own, she felt able to excuse herself to prepare for bed. Neither of them tried to prevent her from leaving them.

She wondered if she should invite Milda to come to her room to chat some more for a while, but before she could ask, her friend remarked that she was so weary that she did not believe she had the strength to even crawl under her bedcovers before she fell to sleep. She was glad her room was warm and she declared it was a blessing.

If anything, as far as Cella was concerned, her friend was probably longing to enjoy the experience of not having to share her room with anyone else, and for the first time in her life. And being warm in bed. They promised to talk the next day, and said good night to each other.

When Cella was finally by herself again, in her own room, she found that she did not feel lonely at all, or at least she did not feel the need for Milda or Lothriel to be there with her to keep her company. It was a relief to not have anyone talking to her. Even if she had not learned anything further about her uncle and friend, and any possible romance between them, there was always tomorrow for that.

In her dressing room, she covered the tall intimidating looking-glass with her bathrobe while recalling the night before, when she had watched the Elfking in it as he had undone her gown. And then she remembered how he tripped over it later. She giggled.

It turned out to be a bad idea to think about that, however, because she missed him all over again, with a pang as sharp as hunger, as if he had just left her side. She turned around quickly to see if he was standing behind her, but he was not.

With a little bit of hope, she tiptoed out of her door and to her bathing chamber wearing only the pretty elf-made nightgown, hoping to be surprised by Thranduil once inside, but he was not there, either. It was a disappointment, although she was not truly expecting him to take such a chance at being caught alone with her now that her uncle and friend were nearby. But it would have been nice to see him before she went to sleep.

It grew more difficult by the moment to keep her spirits up. She knew beforehand that it was not going to be easy, this being separated from the Elfking, but it did not make her feel any happier now. Fighting the temptation to silently call him to her, she steeled her backbone and left him alone with her thoughts. It was only for a little while, she could endure that much.

Swiftly, Cella washed herself in the shallow basin that sat on its own ledge near the bath, brushed her hair, and then returned to her room. She was feeling tired and had managed to convince herself that the Elfking was busy discussing her future with his advisors as he had indicated he would do, and she should be happy for that.

It was time for her to trust that everything would work out for the best, have faith that they would be together again soon, and try to get some sleep in the meantime.

The first thing Cella noticed when she opened her bedchamber door again was the square package on her bed, something mysterious wrapped in a piece of richly brocaded fabric, which was lovely all by itself, without any contents. She untied the tasseled cord that held the cloth in place like a large envelope and it fell open.

"Oh!" She covered her mouth in disbelieving surprise. Inside the fancy covering were her father's books, brought here from the vineyard no doubt, and placed on her bed as a surprise.

Her uncle must have had them with him and somehow smuggled them in here when she was washing up. She was so touched by his thoughtfulness toward her, while she was in the process of trying to deceive him, that tears of both shame and gratitude blurred her view.

"No, it was not your uncle," said the only voice which could banish the tears and bring her smile back. She whirled to face the Elfking who stood across the room from her, by her door, as he continued speaking. "I brought the books, they were here all along," he said. "They were in the saddlebags when you and I left the vineyard."

"I should have guessed."

"I did not hold them back from you on purpose," he explained as she opened one of them to leaf through it. He told her that they had still smelled of smoke from the fire in her bedroom, and he had noticed that she reacted badly to that odor. Accordingly, he had them cleaned for her, of the repugnant aroma, as well as they could be.

While inspecting the one in her hands, Cella noticed that it did not smell bad at all. On the edges of the binding she could see traces of a dry, powdery substance, perhaps cornstarch. She imagined how each leaf must have been dusted with it and maybe even turned in the sun to be freshened. But she did not want to discuss her aversion to smoke, or anything else.

"They are remarkable books," Thranduil concluded, "and you should treasure them."

Did he really come in here to talk about her books? It was nice of him to have brought them, but she wished he would come over to her and embrace her. And kiss her goodnight while he was at it.

"They were my father's," she said, "and I do treasure them, very much. He was interested in Elves." She smiled right into the Elfking's eyes, as invitingly as possible, and added, "As interested as I am."

"Obviously so, from what I can tell," he replied, nodding toward the book she was holding and not seeming to notice her unspoken invitation. Instead, he stood by the door with his hand on the knob as if ready to depart quickly. He did not have to say another word to her.

"You aren't going to stay in here with me tonight, are you?" She had to ask.

At hearing her question, his features softened, and his eyes glowed with a familiar light. For a moment, she felt an unreasonable hope that he would stay.

"No, I am not, firiel." At those words, she was crushed.

"I understand, I do," she said, not really wanting to understand. Now she was sorry that the Elfking had not made his confession to her uncle, if only to bring this charade to an end the sooner.

"However," continued Thranduil, "neither are you."

"Neither am I what, Sire?" With a 'click' that made her jump, even though it was a delicate sound in itself, he locked the door. Slowly he came toward her, but as his actions were not matching what he had just said about not staying, Cella was confused. But her heart began to beat faster.

"Neither are you going to stay here," he said in a matter-of-fact way as he took her by the hand. "For you are going to come with me."

"Coming... where?" He led her only a few steps toward her bedroom's fireplace and pushed against a brick in the hearth. Coming from right next to the fireplace there was another soft 'click' sound, only not as startling to her ears as the first one, and she was astonished when a sliver of the massive wall of stone slid away, and a dimly lit passage was revealed through a narrow opening.

As she stood there in amazement, peering into the darkness behind the secret door, she could feel cool fresh air moving over her that came out from the narrow opening, but she was not sure she wanted to enter within. But she did not have to decide; Thranduil swept her up in his arms and carried her inside.

With an even sharper click, the wall slid closed behind them and they were plunged into utter darkness. She was not afraid, however, as long as he held her and she could hold on to him, too. When she glanced up, she gasped. His face was visible as if lit from within, and she could see his shimmering features clearly.

When the Elfking lowered his eyes to look into hers, that mysterious familiar light was there deep inside of them, and shining into her, illuminating her soul, or so it felt to her. Instantly, she forgot every sorrow or doubt she had felt, and basked in the joy of loving him.

He moved swiftly, that much she could tell by the way the flow of air felt on her face in the darkness, but she could not tell how far they traveled or in what direction. There were turns into other passageways, but before she could ask how much farther they were going to go, she saw light.

The sides of the tunnel they were in became slowly visible and after one last turn, they were stepping right into the royal bedchamber. Although there were only a few candles lit, the room they entered was almost dazzlingly bright in comparison to the secret passageway.

This time Thranduil did not throw her on the bed, but laid her carefully on the covers and sat next to her. He bent over her slowly, his hair brushing lightly on her face as his drew closer. But, instead of kissing her, he stroked her hair away from her forehead and then cradled her head in one of his large hands.

"Tell me, firiel," he said, concerned, "why you are so terrified of fire." That was not what she had expected him to say, and it was not even close to what she had wished he would do now that they were alone, and on his bed. He added, "Enough that it gives you such nightmares?"

"Please, Sire, don't make me, not now," she pleaded, resisting the urge to talk about her bad dream, or even recall it, because she knew it would make her cry, or feel scared, and she did not want to do either of those at this moment. Instead, she wanted only to feel Thranduil's arms around her body and his lips against hers.

It was a struggle; whenever he looked into her eyes with the intention of hearing her speak the truth to him she could almost feel it, as if there were invisible hands within his gaze, beckoning her, almost commanding her, to step forward and be forthright. And she felt compelled to obey, but this time she fought back. Her nightmare had been forgotten and the fear she had felt had disappeared, so why bring it back up now?

"There is a part of you that remains hidden from me," he told her gently. "And I can see now that perhaps it is hidden from you as well, or you fear to face it."

Whether it was his words and the trueness of their aim, or the kindness in his eyes, which held her fastened in place, she could not tell. But she burst into tears and shook her head, unwilling to see what he was asking her to face. Even if she trusted him with her life, she did not want to go down that particular path with him right now. If ever.

"Please, don't make me talk about it," Cella asked again, tearfully. She did not even feel embarrassed by her wet face and wetter nose. She wiped both with her nightgown sleeve. Instead of answering her, the Elfking released her from his gaze and gathered her up into his arms, and held her.

"I can tell that something must have happened to instill this strong fear into you when you were very young," said the Elfking after a time. Her tears had finally stopped but she felt weary, and anxious. She sighed, but could not talk. If she replied, she would start crying again, she knew it, so she said nothing.

"But I will not see you weep in fear any more on my account," he added. "You have had a long day, little star. I did not mean to add another burden, rather to help relieve you of one, if I could."

That did make sense and Cella breathed easier hearing it. She knew that she did feel better when she talked about things that worried her, or frightened her, and he was wonderful to want to encourage her to do so, for her sake.

At last she felt brave enough to look into his eyes again, now that she sensed that the danger of unwittingly speaking about anything else besides her love for him had passed.

"I will talk to you about it, someday," Cella promised him then. "Only not now, not now."

"Yes, I have no doubt that you will." And then, to her relief, instead of asking her to speak anymore, he finally kissed her.

t b c


	45. Chapter 45?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 45

After Thranduil kissed her, he wiped the remaining traces of her tears from her face and then helped her to get under the covers. Leaving her there, he made himself ready for bed. Cella watched him undress and wondered if he was upset or disappointed with her because she would not speak to him of what he wanted to know. She had never refused, or been able to stop herself, before.

Drowsy and still a bit anxious, she wanted to please him by showing him that she did love him, and with all of her heart, and that she did trust him with her life, even if she could not bring herself to discuss her nightmares with him.

She was determined to make it up to him in other ways, in his arms. At the same time, she was hoping that once he was beside her again, in the bed, she would finally forget her worries under the influence of his healing touch.

There was more to her resistance to talk about her nightmares, and the reason she had them, than an unwillingness to feel afraid again, although she pretended that was the main obstacle keeping her from sharing her memories. She shivered, although not cold, and wished that the subject had never been brought up, no matter what good intentions there had been on Thranduil's part to get to the bottom of her fears in an effort to release her from their grip.

From deep inside, and from the moment he had asked Cella why she was terrified of fire, a nagging inner voice had clamored in alarm, telling her to beware. If he learned the truth, the whole truth, would he still want her in his life? She fought to tame those thoughts before they strayed too far out of her control and he heard them. And, she did not really know what that alarming voice was talking about, or did she? She did not want to know.

As he walked around the room, Thranduil did not appear to be troubled either by her previous refusal to talk or the thoughts she was fighting to have control over now. She tried to enjoy the view of him wearing only his leggings and hoped he would hurry back to her and banish the demons that stood at the edge of her mind.

After snuffing out candles and putting wood on the fire, he opened his chamber door and briefly, but too quietly for her to understand what he was saying, spoke to someone who must have been waiting outside in the main room of the royal chambers. She assumed it was Nenrandir, the quietly dutiful elf, and she wondered if he knew that she was in his monarch's bed.

Ever since Legolas had told her how her presence in Mirkwood benefited all of the inhabitants by benefiting their king, she was no longer worried about Thranduil's private time alone with her being accidentally discovered, or disapproved of, by his loyal subjects. But she still felt shy about being seen in his actual bed, so she was glad that whoever was on the other side of the door did not come in to the bedchamber.

While Thranduil spoke to whoever was there, out of her sight, Cella turned on to her back and examined this royal bed she was privileged to occupy. It was as large as the one at the vineyard and just as grand, if not grander.

Despite her lingering feelings of unease, she had the presence of mind to appreciate the fact that now she was in the Elfking's bed because he desired for her to be there, and not because she was the injured niece of his valuable vintner, or had crept in uninvited. Perhaps she would never sleep in her own room again, after this night. It made her smile to think of that.

The wood this bed was made from looked different; it was dark, nearly black, but the deeply-hued green drapes that hung from its canopy appeared to be identical to the ones that were on the bed at the vineyard. Instead of a series of trees carved into the roof of it, there was a single beech, shown fully leafed with careful detail, which was engraved into the dark wood and then inlaid with silver.

Even in the dim glow of the fire, the only remaining source of light in the room, the silvery tree over her head glowed as if it was illuminated from within, like the Elfking. The thick bedposts that held up the canopy had similarly embellished carvings, only these were delicate silvery vines that wound around the posts as if they were tree-trunks. The vines glimmered.

"That is mithril," explained Thranduil. He had removed his leggings and slipped into the bed beside her, gathering her into his embrace. "It is like silver, only it is rarer, and much more precious, like you are."

And even if she had wanted to answer this, or to ask something about mithril, or anything else, she would not have been able to, for he covered her mouth with his, and she was blissfully silenced. Effortlessly, without releasing her for very long from his arms, he was able to remove her nightgown, and the way his naked body felt against hers was enough to cast out any traces of thought about the mithril-decorated royal bed, or her nightmares, that may have been left in her mind.

He made love to her tenderly and slowly, almost hesitatingly, taking his time until all of her lingering nervousness was banished completely, eliminated by his touch, his kisses, and his passion. Generously, he made sure she was fully satisfied before seeking his own release within her.

As always, when he spilled himself into her, Cella's heart soared with joy at the realization that she was the one, the only one, allowed to bring this gift to him. Their joining in this way meant more to her than merely the mutual physical pleasure they found together; it was also an honor above all other honors to be the one that he chose to reveal this other side of himself to. That no one else ever saw.

This aspect of the Elfking was for her eyes only to witness and for her body only to receive, and it made her happy to be the one he chose to please him, even as she knew she had done nothing in her life to deserve such a reward.

Nestled snugly in his arms afterwards, Cella listened to his heart's steady throb beneath her ear. It was as reassuring to her as the way his strong arms felt as they held her against him, or how gentle his fingers had felt when he wiped her tearful face clean. Maybe now she would truly forget her earlier fears and find peace.

"Sleep now," he told her as he stroked her hair. But when she closed her eyes, she saw flames. Bewildered, she opened them again and stared off into the darkness. It was hopeless, she had to tell him about it, or she would never rest. Why could she not just forget as usual?

'It was only a dream, a bad dream, it was only a bad dream.' She repeated this in her mind, stubbornly now as if she was also trying to convince herself, hoping he would hear her. Even though she no longer felt afraid, she was not ready to say anything out loud yet. Something was still stopping her from speaking.

Those nightmares had haunted her for her whole life, it seemed, although it had been many years since she had one that scared her as badly as earlier that evening. Or the one she had at the vineyard when she had hidden in his bed.

"Yes." Thranduil whispered as he repeated her words back to her now, "Only a bad dream."

He had heard her! It was such a relief to know it. Tentatively, she proceeded to 'talk' to him with her thoughts. 'I know why I have them, the nightmares. It isn't all hidden from me, like you said. I just don't want to think back about that day.'

"Nor do I desire for you to think of it, until you are ready," he answered out loud. The way it felt to know he could hear her silent voice encouraged Cella to try to be more specific with her reason for not wanting to talk about her fear of fire. Maybe, if she could only explain it carefully enough, he would never ask her again.

Normally, when she was younger and the nightmares were happening frequently, Uncle Dwain would come to her bedside soon after she woke up shaking and in tears. He would bring her water to drink while he comforted her as best as he could. She tried to remember what he would say to her to calm her back to sleep.

'Sometimes, I would start to tell Uncle Dwain about the bad dreams, but he would always make me to go back to sleep, and he would tell me to forget.'

"Your uncle is a wise man and I trust that he must have known what was best for you."

But now Cella was in a quandary, for as soon as she recalled her uncle's specific efforts to relieve her fears during the nights when she woke up in terror, she also remembered what he used to say to her. And it was not to forget. He never told her to forget. Why had she thought he had?

'It wasn't your fault, child.' She heard Uncle Dwain's voice as clearly as if he were in the Elfking's place, holding her to comfort her. Quickly, as if to erase the thought, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of something else, anything else. Thranduil's fingers in her hair helped, and she concentrated on that. 'It was never your fault,' her uncle said again.

"It wasn't my fault," she said out loud now, but when she heard her own words she was not certain that she thought this because she knew it was true, or because she had been told it was true so many times that she had come to believe it.

"You were a child?" The Elfking must have known without needing to ask, but this simple question seemed to snap her to attention at last. It was true that she was only a child when the fire had happened. It was long ago, an eternity ago, in another place and time. Why was she still so afraid?

"Yes," she answered. But that was all she could say before her throat and chest tightened, as if a hand had been placed over her mouth to keep her quiet, clamped firmly. She struggled to breathe and panicked, whimpering from the effort. Without clearly understanding what she was doing, she pushed away from him and sat up.

"Celiel."

But she could not answer, even with her mind, and she covered her face with her hands and shook her head. The Elfking sat up beside her and pulled her close to him. Without speaking further, he drew one of her hands from her face and held it for a while.

"I am with you now," he reassured her when he finally spoke. "You have nothing to fear."

But yes, she realized, yes she did. It was coming back, all of it. Even with her eyes open she could see the flames. And she knew there was something bad she had done to cause all of it. Something wickedly bad, after she had promised not to...

"You were never bad, firiel," the Elfking said. "In this you can trust me, for your heart is as transparent as glass to me, and there is no badness within you, little star." She knew that he always spoke the truth and she was willing to believe him. "Close your eyes," he said mildly, not insisting, adding, "and tell me what you are seeing."

"The barn at my uncle's vineyard." It was almost a lie, because she saw more than that, but she felt safe starting there. The huge structure dominated the view in her mind in much the same way it had dominated the view from out of her bedroom window during her childhood.

She was a little girl, but not tiny, old enough that the memories of that time in her life were still mostly clear and sharp, and at times poignant, up until one warm spring day. However, she had to claw to remember anything after that day clearly, until many years later. Anything, that is, of more significance than working alongside her uncle in the vines. That was all she could see, for a long stretch of her memory, the rest was murky and elusive.

But she remembered the barn.

"Can you tell me anything else?" With her eyes closed, she looked around her memories and recalled that day to her mind. It felt like Thranduil was right beside her as she walked toward the barn in her mind while she haltingly told him what she saw. Somehow, she knew that she could stop talking about it at any moment, and he would not force her to continue. Knowing this gave her courage.

If ever she started to feel afraid again, to the point where she could not speak, he would squeeze her hand, or stroke her hair, and she would find the courage from his affectionate touch to continue a little farther. And in this way, step by small step, she told him... everything

When she woke up that morning, Cella was not yet frightened of fire. She had been ill but she was feeling better. However, her mother had asked her to stay in her room quietly while the morning chores were seen to, and then she could have her breakfast in bed.

There was a sharp clanging banging metallic sound coming through her open window that signaled the presence of the traveling farriers. The horses were being shod today! She hopped out from under her covers to check and saw the back end of their funny little wagon, with its two tall wheels and the racks of horseshoes in the cupboard-like structure on top of it, which had been pulled partially through the barn doors and blocked the entrance.

This was an activity that she did not want to miss, and she had scampered quickly from her room, sneaking cautiously past the kitchen where her mother was busy, and into the barn to watch. Too impatient to stop and dress, she realized too late that she was still in her nightshirt when she entered the barn through the little side door and she quickly hid herself from sight among the bales of hay just inside, but from a place where she could still watch.

For a moment, she thought she saw the farrier's eyes flicker in her direction after she peeked out, being as careful as she could not to bring any attention to herself. But he turned his head away, to her relief, and went about his business.

The farrier was not a nice-looking man to her; he was massively muscled and perpetually dirty, his arms and hands were blackened from the soot-making forge used to heat the horses' pre-made shoes. He had made them at his black-smith shop in the town and brought with him and only had to get them hot enough to shape them to fit perfectly onto the horse's hoof. But the fire had to be stoked often with small chunks of coal kept in a hod that was attached to his wagon.

As he waited for the metal to redden to the proper hue, he shaved down and then used a rasp on the horse's hoof to make it easier to apply the shoe. Then he would plunge the hot shoe into a bucket of water to cool it before nailing it in place. If it was not for the fact that her father was there to help him today, she would have bolted back to her bed. She did not want to be alone with that man.

The first time she had seen this whole process, she had screamed when she watched as the shoe was nailed to a hoof, which had startled the normally placid draft horse being shod, and she had to be taken from the barn. She was promised by her father that the horse could feel no pain, and was indeed grateful to have those shoes on when it rode over many miles or its hooves would crack and its feet would be sore.

In turn, she had promised to remain quiet, and never ever make loud noises in the barn while the horses were being shod, and she had obediently done so ever since.

However, today she kept extra quiet because she did not want to be discovered and then sent back inside to dress, at least not until the men was done with the horses. After a little while, she heard her mother calling her from the house. If mama figured out what was going on in the barn, she would know Cella was probably there.

Her father also heard her mother calling but he did not remain quiet, instead he left the barn after telling the other man that his daughter had probably run off into the vines to see his brother. Cella watched him pass by her where she hid but she stayed still. The horses' hooves would continue to be shod without his help.

Today the farrier, Tobe, did not have his apprentice with him, a pleasant-faced young man named Mid, who always whistled merrily as he worked. Cella liked Mid, he would whistle like a bird for her, he knew many different calls, and she would try to guess which one he was imitating.

But she had never felt comfortable around Tobe, with his huge barrel-chest, thick neck, and arms that were as big around as her entire body. His sheer bulk was scary enough, but there was more to her unease than his size. There was something about the coldness in his small dark eyes when he peered at her, usually while she stood clinging to her father's leg, which bothered her even more than his appearance.

And it was not just that his hands were always dirty, black and soot-covered when she had been close enough to see them, it was also apparent that beneath the ground-in grime his fingers were covered with calluses and scars. She dreaded those hands, and hoped he would never touch her with them.

He and his hands frightened her as much as the stories she enjoyed hearing from her uncle, even if they were harrowing, of goblins from the mountains to the south that used to swarm over the Rhun sea-shore and terrorize the countryside, until the people learned to defend themselves against the ravening enemy hordes. She would shudder in equal fear when Tobe was nearby.

As soon as her father left the barn to search for her in the vines, Tobe took the shoe that was heating in the portable forge, itself the subject of many warnings to Cella not to touch or even draw near to, and set the glowing red object to the side. There was a splash of showering sparks when he put it on the lip of the stove. And then he turned and came toward where she was hiding.

At first, she was not worried, and thought he might be looking for something among her uncle's tools which were hung on hooks close to where she hid. And then he stepped around the hay bales and stood before her. His beady eyes seemed to pierce her and hold her in place while he squatted down in front of her.

"Well, well and what do we have here, hiding like a mouse?" With a low chuckle he reached out to her, and she was frozen completely stiff with fear as she watched the blackened callused paws coming closer. "Now you be still for a minute, I just want a wee peek under yer shift."

Cella obeyed him and remained still as he lifted her nightshirt, he warned her to stay quiet or he would tell her father on her. Somehow, she endured him and his hands being so near to her until he touched her, and that was when she could not help herself; she broke her promise, and screamed. She was not sure what happened next, only that Tobe had stood up straight, his face twisted in rage.

With the back of his hand, he slapped her so hard that it sent her sailing across the floor until she hit the wall. "Look what you did!" He bellowed at her, but instead of coming after her to hurt her again, he raced to his wagon. Cella stopped screaming when she smelled smoke, and heard the dreadful sound that the horses were making as they whinnied in fear.

Her father burst in, calling for her, he must have heard her screaming, and the farrier yelling, but he did not come to her. She wanted to run to him, and cling to him, but she was afraid that Tobe would see her, and hit her again.

"What happened?" Her father had to shout to be heard over the squeals of the frightened horses and now Cella could see the smoke that she smelled, and she could hear a snapping, crackling noise that she did not like the sound of.

"Yer damn brat got in here and skeered the horse so much it tipped the hot shoe off the stove and sparks got into the hay!" Alarmed at the accusation, Cella peeked over the bales and saw her father and the farrier stomping and beating out small tongues of flame that were scattered over the straw-strewn floor. They could not keep up with them.

At some point after that, her mother was there, although now Cella's memory began to fail her. The smoke was thick and she could barely see at that point, let alone breathe, but she had clearly heard her mother's voice.

Her father hollered that Cella was somewhere in the barn, hiding, and her mother was trying to find her, but she stayed hidden. She had caused the fire and she did not want to face her parents. And the little tongues of flame had gotten bigger and bigger, and were climbing up the posts and walls. The horses screamed and the fire's crackling noise turned into a roar.

When her uncle had finally found her, she had wedged herself deeply within the still stacked hay bales. He told her later that it was only her coughing that led him to her hiding spot. If she had not been so near the side-door, she would have been burnt alive.

Cella was never told what had happened to her parents. She knew only that she never saw them again, and that they were not going to come back.

And that it was all her fault that they were gone. No matter what Uncle Dwain had to say.

"No, firiel, no" said Thranduil soothingly as he held her now, sobbing so hard that she could hardly breathe. "It was not your fault, calm yourself. It was never your fault. Do you not see that now? You were always good, always, and it was not your fault." But it was a long while before she would listen to him, and even longer before she believed him.

t b c


	46. Chapter 46?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 46

When Cella awoke the next morning, she was in her own bed again, and alone, but she did not feel abandoned. After Thranduil had brought her back there, he had stayed with her until she fell back to sleep with a promise that she would wake in his bed for every morning of her life, after this day.

And Cella believed him. She would never doubt him again, or so she believed. For he had brought her something that she had never thought would be possible; peace of mind. A sense of peace that she had not felt within her since that warm spring morning before her uncle's barn burnt down.

After the Elfking had calmed her enough, he was better able to help her see the truth of the matter, a truth that she had not ever forgotten, but instead desperately hid from because it existed along with all of the horror associated with it, that her young heart could not bear. She had finally started to heal. It was only with the mind of a grown woman that she could properly sort out the events and see them for what they were, instead of for what she had so long feared they were.

However, as she was not able as a child to understand the events of the fire from any other perspective than that of the guiltiest party, she had no reason to really believe otherwise. Finally, as an adult, she could see how she had not broken a promise, had not misbehaved, but had fought back against an evil assault. She had the right to do so.

And as her grown self asserted itself and her shame turned to anger, and then to relief, she did begin to believe the Elfking when he told her that she was not bad, had not ever been bad. And she recalled the other voices from her past that had also tried to convince her, in the days that followed the tragedy, that she was not to blame for the fire, or for her parents' death.

What helped the most was not just remembering the situation in the barn, and step by painful step at that, to bring her through the flames and all the way to the other side. It was the Elfking's words, after she was ready to hear him, when he had asked, "If you were bad, would your uncle love you as much as he does? Think about his eyes when he looked at you then, little star, do you remember ever seeing disappointment or discouragement within them?"

Of course, she remembered no such thing in her uncle's loving gaze, only pity, and sorrow, and compassion. And when she wept again, it was not the grief-wracked sobbing that had only made her feel more miserable, but a cleansing tonic as she mourned all the years of her life that she had spent trapped inside her own prison of imagined guilt. But she did not weep for long, because her heart felt too light for tears.

She took one of the Elfking's hands into both of hers and folded his fingers over his palm, saying, "With a fist this large, you have broken through the wall I made around my heart," but she smiled when she said it, the pain gone. And Thranduil had laughed. Shortly after this, he brought her back to her room and she slept more soundly than she could remember.

But Cella did not have long to lie in bed and enjoy her serenity of spirit; she had only just begun to wonder about breakfast when there was a knock at her door. Normally, Lothriel or Thranduil would knock and then enter, but whoever was there now did not come right in, which made her think it must be either her uncle, or Milda. She rose to find out, happy to have company.

It was both of them.

"Breakfast is being served up for us in that fancy dining-room, Cella," Milda said, instead of 'good morning,' adding, "And you aren't even dressed yet!"

"Good day to you, brother-daughter," murmured Uncle Dwain when Cella stepped past Milda to hug him.

"It is a good day, uncle," she answered without loosening her embrace, suddenly feeling as if she would burst out laughing, knowing how good of a day it already was for her. "And I am so glad that you are my uncle," she added with a final squeeze.

But Milda was too hungry to abide any delays and, with a sense of authority hitherto unseen, she shooed Uncle Dwain away and directed Cella to go back into her room to dress. She followed right behind while talking non-stop every step of the way.

"Did you take a bath here yet? Have you ever seen anything like that before? The way the hot and cold water make a waterfall that way? Where are your clothes kept, Cella?" The dressing room made her sigh and the contents of the wardrobe stunned her into silence.

Wordlessly, Milda fingered the glittering front of the fancy riding suit and then admired the other contents, including the gown Cella had worn the night before, which she had noted but had not had a chance to comment on.

"You've only been here a few days and you have more clothes here than I do back at my own home," Milda declared. "This is lovely." She pulled another gown from the wardrobe that even Cella had not seen before, a plum-colored garment that was more elven-like than the gown she had been given at the vineyard. They both admired the elegant style and graceful lines.

But it was not only the gowns and the riding suit that captured Milda's attention. There were shelves with undergarments and nightgowns, beside the one Cella still wore, dainty slippers and the pairs of boots, the soft fur-lined gloves and warm cloak, to be explored and exclaimed over.

"This is more clothes than I have owned at one time, too," said Cella with a mixture of pride and astonishment, realizing it fully now that she had someone there to notice her new clothes with her. Had she grown so used to her new life here in the palace that she had forgotten her humble state of only a few short months previous? Was she taking the generous monarch's largesse for granted?

"I can't keep my hands off of this." Milda had finally given in to her need to examine the tunic of the richly embroidered riding suit more closely, removing it from the standing closet and shaking her head bemusedly at the sparkling ornamentation. Not for the first time, Cella silently wished for a less ostentatious outfit, but could not help but enjoy her friend's delight in it.

Almost embarrassedly, Cella began to explain how it had once belonged to the Elfprince, and had been tailored to fit her, to Milda's suspiciously arched eyebrow. They were interrupted by Uncle Dwain.

"Our breakfast is growing cold," he told them, and Cella chose the plum dress to wear, and they were soon together at the table in the guest dining-room. The hot food was still hot, however, despite Uncle Dwain's fears, and all of it was as delicious as ever. For a time, there was no conversation. It was Milda, to no one's surprise, who finally came up for air long enough to speak first.

"Your Uncle Dwain can't wait to get to the cellars and meet them elves who are to work with him," she said, with a shake of her head as if she could not understand the need to rush, now that they were finally there.

"That I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "No time like the present." But it went further than meeting more elves for him, he was actually just as interested in seeing the way the cellars were built, and if there was going to be enough room for the barrels to be laid out properly. He was quite sure that the Laketown barges were due to arrive soon.

Cella was surprised, and happy, that neither one of her breakfast companions mentioned anything more to her about the prince, and the possibility that he was courting her. But after everyone had finished eating, she finally asked about Willem. She was not prepared for their response. Again Milda fell quiet, and her eyes swam with sudden tears, but she did not cry. It was Uncle Dwain who told the tale.

Willem, it had turned out, was Gorst's kin and had befriended Milda on purpose, to get closer to Cella. He had been the one who had assisted the arsonists that had invaded the vineyard during the night of the Harvest Feast. The Elfking had heard rumor of this possibility, which is why he had taken Cella away as soon as he had returned from Laketown on the day following the fire.

"Do you remember, Cella," Milda contributed, unable to keep quiet after all, "how Nandirn told Ingarde and me not to tell anyone you were leaving with the King Elf?"

Yes, she did remember that, and how Thranduil had been so kind that he had made sure she would have a chance to say farewell to her friends that day before he took her away. "His Majesty said that you were to tell anyone who asked that I was indisposed," she remarked, grinning at the memory. It had sounded so funny that morning, but now it was serious.

The clever Elfking had set a trap for Willem by removing Cella and having everyone else led to believe that she was still there, recovering from the shocking events of her bedroom being attacked and burnt, and her uncle being seriously injured. Nandirn had gone from place to place officially giving everyone word that she was resting for the day, by order of His Majesty, in the royal bedchamber. No one was to disturb her.

Not long after that announcement had been made to the vineyard workers who were cleaning up after the fire, Willem had been caught trying to get into the mansion.

Normally, no one would have thought twice of it, he had claimed to be looking for Milda, who was actually at uncle Dwain's side at the time. But Thranduil had warned the sentinels to beware of even the least suspicious vineyard worker who tried to gain access to the elves' living area, for any reason, after Cella was secretly removed from the premises.

It had not taken long for Willem to confess under the scrutiny of the Elves and their piercing questions. Milda had been a witness to what, for her, was an ordeal when this took place. And it had crushed her when he had finally broken down and admitted his guilt. It was clear that she had still not quite recovered from the shock of learning how poorly her heart had been used by the man she thought was going to take her away from her hard life, after all.

It was a disheartening story for Cella, too, for she had such high hopes that Willem could be the one to build Milda that snug little home she had wished for, and rescue her from the cold crowded bed in her family home during the bitter winter. However, she was also glad to have her friend with her here, and it helped to know that her feet were warm either way.

There did not seem to be anything for Cella to say besides how sorry she was, about all of it, and after she had said that she remembered something else she had been waiting to mention. And she hoped it would cheer the table by changing the subject. The recollections of the fire at the vineyard now seemed as distant to her as Tobe in her uncle's barn. She did not feel guilty any more.

"Have you heard there are Dwarves visiting here, Uncle?" He had not, and seemed just as happy to learn it as she had been at first. She told them both about the clinking-clanking arrival, the ponies, the flowery speeches and courtly bows.

"They brought their mining tools with 'em, you say?" Her uncle's eyes took on their usual eager 'ready to get to work gleam', and Cella could see him mentally fingering picks and shovels, as he set out to remodel the Elfking's caves.

"One of them, Norfi, is related to the Dwarf who built the caves, his name was Narfi." Her uncle and friend were suitably impressed with her recently acquired knowledge of the origins of the various Dwarf visitors, from what she had learned from Lothriel and the Elfking, not to mention the Dwarves themselves. She did not bring up the air of hostility she had sensed in the atmosphere within the caves before the lost party of long-bearded travelers had finally arrived.

It was Milda who finally solved the riddle of why the Dwarves felt it important to comment on the growing beards of their kinfolk. It was their way of wishing continued good health to each other, for a Dwarf never cut his beard, and the longer he lived, or she as the case may be, the longer their facial hair would be. It was a sign of vigor to have a beard the reached the tops of their toes, and it was often felt that a Dwarf had not reached full maturity until his beard reached below his belt buckle, or so Milda had 'heard tell'.

Both Cella and her uncle had to laugh at the image of long-bearded Dwarf wives, and they wondered how the hair-covered folk told the difference between the sexes, when they were fully clothed? According to Milda, there was often no variance in their garments, which made it all the more of a mystery. And as they did not have large families, perhaps the confusion did not end with the humans alone.

All through the breakfast, Cella had noticed a certain but subtle amount of stiffness in the table manners displayed by her uncle and her friend. They barely looked at each other, and were terribly formal when asking each other to do something as simple as pass the salt cellar, or the honey jar, with "Please would you be so kind?" and "I thank you very kindly" after that.

Even her unpracticed eye detected an air of guilt that hovered over the two of them. But it was hard to say if they felt badly over how they had teased Cella about Legolas the night before or if they had a private problem with each other. Every time she convinced herself that the two of them were behaving normally, and it was perhaps she who had changed, she would catch one of them slyly peeking at the other, which she found odd.

At last, she figured that their overly-proper attitude must be due to the story about Willem; they both were pained to tell her about it, after they had both hoped that she had put the ugly episode behind her. They did not want to be the ones to reopen her recently healed wounds, especially her uncle. Perhaps they had both feared that she would bring it up first and then they hoped she would not break down when she was fully informed?

Even though she thought there was more to their careful manners than that, she did notice how difficult it had been for Uncle Dwain to speak of those most recent events at the vineyard, and Willem's part to play in the fire, and whatever vigilante justice that he and the rest of Gorst's kin had in mind for her.

And of course, she now had a better understanding as to why he would feel overprotective of her feelings and fears when at the heart of the issue there had been a fire, and a man who had put his hands on her. With the fresh realizations from her reawakened memory, she ached for her uncle, now that she realized even more fully how much he dreaded that she be exposed to such dangers. She ached as well knowing that he must have suffered from his inability to comfort her afterwards.

Instead, her uncle has felt that he needed to send her away from him for her own good, trusting that the Elfking would know how to protect her, and hoping that she would be safe. Unconsciously, she sighed out loud, remembering how her uncle had yet to learn the truth about how well the Elfking had kept his vow. He had protected her very well from everything, except herself.

It was hard not to worry a little, even though Thranduil had told her that she did not have cause. She hovered halfway between hoping he would hurry and wanting him to wait, to make whatever announcement he had planned. If her uncle was going to be disturbed or unsettled by the revelation, she would rather he not have to suffer through that until after he had seen his primary destination, the Elfking's wine cellars.

She could tell that Uncle Dwain was eager to stake out his territory in what he already felt was his new domain. He did not have to wait long, for Thaladir, the king's worthy seneschal, came to fetch him, and he had brought with him, draped over one of his arms, a gift that made both of the women gasp.

It was a robe, the official court vintner's robe, in the deep green shade they had all come to recognize enough to remark upon, and were informed by Thaladir that it was, indeed, called the King's green. They were advised that the garment denoted Uncle Dwain's station within the realm as being one of the royal household, and the color of the sash, a silver-gray tone, indicated that he was in a position of authority.

As the tall lordly Elf formally presented the robe to the man, he made a little ceremony of it, first holding it open for him to put it on, tying the sash with a grand knot, and then bowing slightly afterwards. All the while he did so with the most seriously sober demeanor about him that lent a note of elegance to the occasion.

After Cella's uncle had the handsome robe on, she saw how all of the duties and responsibilities implicit in the specific position that he held were invested in the garment. When Uncle Dwain wore it, he was the Royal Court Vintner, and would be given all due respect by all of the subjects of the realm, but when he disrobed, he was an ordinary mortal again, albeit one who was living within the caves of Mirkwood.

This alone, to be invited to live within the Elfking's realm, was an honor, no matter how he was dressed, or so Uncle Dwain pointed out. Cella noticed that he did seem especially proud of his new robe, however, even if he did try to remain humble about it. She suppressed a grin at his obvious discomfort at being the center of attention in his regal finery, even for this intimate audience of three, when all he wanted was to get his hands dirty.

Milda's eyes sparkled when she looked him over, and she had to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles around his shoulders, and straighten the already straight collar. Both of the women agreed that he cut a handsome figure in the elven-made garb, no matter how undeserving he declared himself to be of fancy new clothes. With a polite nod, the seneschal bid them a good day, and escorted her uncle, finally, to his new dominion beneath the earth.

"Do you think we can go look-see around the palace now?" Milda asked with as much eagerness as her uncle had displayed earlier, when he wanted to be on his way to work. Cella nodded but held her hand up for a moment of her friend's silence first.

"After you tell me what is going on between you and my uncle," she said, "then we can probably go anywhere you want to go." Cella was not sure this last part was true, there probably were areas of the palace that were private or otherwise forbidden for the new mortal subjects to explore, but within reason there was plenty of places to look-see despite that fact. And there was the outdoors, as well. But that was all in good time, first things first.

"What do you know about us?" asked Milda, clearly flustered. "I mean, what makes you think there is anything going on between us, may I ask? Not that I am saying there's not." Poor dear, thought Cella, it was so hard for her friend not to tell on herself, and the effort must be painful at the moment.

"I only know what I see," explained Cella. "And I know how two people behave when they can't keep their eyes off of each other and are trying their best not to."

"You're not mad at us, are you Cella?" Milda's answer was such a dead giveaway about the situation that Cella could not feel mad, or even disturbed, and instead laughed out loud at the wide-eyes of her friend. It was not a surprise, but it was still something she had never seriously considered before now, her uncle being involved with a woman. She felt absurdly pleased to learn that what she had suspected was true.

"If you promise not to be mad at me when I tell you my secret, then I won't be mad at you," she teased. It was clear that she was not angry, but she did want to prepare Milda for what she was about to reveal. And she could not wait to get the secret off of her chest, even if it was to the only person she knew was not capable of keeping one.

It was worth the risk, just to be able to share her happiness.

t b c


	47. Chapter 47?

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 47

"Wait, don't tell me, I know what you're going to say," said Milda, with a self-satisfied smirk, to Cella's offer to share a secret with her. "That pretty elf, the prince, Lego-lass? He is sweet on you. I was right? Wasn't I?"

They were standing beside the breakfast table where they had been left behind, after Uncle Dwain, in his new capacity as Royal Court Vintner, had gone to the cellars with the seneschal, Thaladir.

"His name is Legolas," answered Cella, "not lass, and no; he is not sweet on me. In fact...," but she got no further before she was interrupted.

"Indeed he is sweet on you." The merry voice came from directly behind her. The Elfprince stepped around to face her, now with a mock-sad smile on his face and one hand on his chest, but an obvious mischievous glint in his bright eyes. "How could you say such a thing, wood-sprite? You wound me to the core."

"Your majesty... highness... lord," Milda gasped out, lowering her head while dropping into a clumsy curtsey-like bow. Her actions startled both Cella and Legolas.

"Oh no, no, no," exclaimed the bemused elf as he took Milda's elbow and pulled her to stand up straight. "You do me too much courtesy. I am Legolas to you, not majesty."

"Yes, sire," whispered the flustered woman.

"Nor sire, either." Legolas smiled warmly, no longer the aggrieved sweetheart, and chuckled at the honorifics bestowed on him. "And where are my own manners? I offer greetings of the day to you, good ladies. I hope you are both well rested."

"And a good day to you," said Milda, a bit more bold now. Her sudden bout of shyness appeared to be swiftly melting away with the warmth of the Elfprince's charm. "And I slept real well in that fancy bed."

"Good morning, Legolas," replied Cella, happy to see him, but disappointed that she was prevented from telling her secret to Milda. It seemed the fair thing to do, after her friend had accidentally admitted her own earlier. But, perhaps it was better not to tell anything yet. And, although she could not acknowledge being well rested, neither could she claim to feeling tired. Instead, she said nothing about her own night in a very fancy bed, although it made her smile to think of what both of their reactions might be if she did.

"Now," the Elfprince said to Cella while clapping his hands together, as if on a signal, suddenly businesslike and proper. "While Lothriel and I were escorting your uncle, and your friend, to these chambers last night," Legolas smiled at Milda as he continued, "did I not overhear a plan made by the two of you to explore the palace halls today?"

To Milda's surprise, he extended his elbow to her as he told them that he was there to offer his assistance as their tour guide. But the woman seemed to hesitate a moment, with an unsure look in her eyes, before agreeing to take his proffered elbow. She glanced over her shoulder at Cella, as if asking permission first, but Legolas gave her no time to receive any.

As he led Milda through the door, he assured her that Cella, who was right behind them, was capable of making her way around in the halls without needing assistance, by now, and could follow along, he was sure, without getting herself lost, or at least he hoped.

Cella agreed without question, she so enjoyed his company, and she had hoped to see him today. But she did not say anything for fear that Milda would misinterpret her affection for Thranduil's son. Once they were through the doors and were in the main corridor, she was offered his other elbow.

For a few mirth-filled hours, the Elfprince took the women in and out of halls and chambers that were more and more marvelous. Even Cella had not seen many of the places they peeked at and she hoped to spend more time in a few of them.

The grand library made her heart beat almost as fast as Thranduil's presence. The towering shelves of scrolls and leather-bound books reached to the ceiling. Legolas promised her that he would bring her back there, soon. There were many books there in her tongue, she was told, that had been collected over the millennia for one reason or another and that it was about time someone came along to appreciate them.

Milda was impressed by the palace kitchen and could hardly be torn away from it. She stood goggle-eyed in front of the rack of clear glass jars that held familiar, to her, and unfamiliar herbs and spices. The Elf-rune lettered labels baffled her and she swore she was going to have to learn to read the 'squiggled words' if she was going to live here.

Their accommodating tour guide was willing to pause in front of the tapestries in the main corridors and answer their questions about them. They were both allowed to touch the glossy, jewel-toned threads, too. Milda was most interested in three large ones, with terrible battle-scenes between Elves and an army of monstrous creatures, which dominated one torch-lit corridor.

They were very like the ones that the Elfking and Cella had paused in front of a few nights previous. According to the younger Elf, the war took place in the same lands that once lay far to the west from Mirkwood, called Beleriand, as the ones she had seen before.

"Is that a naz-ghoul?" asked the wide-eyed Milda, who stood in front of the first one of the trio of tapestries. She pointed to a giant man-shaped creature, engulfed in flames and armed with only a fiery whip, which towered over the tiny Elves that were fleeing before its terrible wrath. In the dark night sky in the embroidered battle scene flew a dragon, and goblins carrying torches swarmed from all sides. Legolas face grew thoughtful, if a touch amused, before he answered.

"A Nazgul? No it is not." His voice dropped and the tone was one of dread as he added, "No. That is a balrog, a demon unleashed from the pits of Angband." To Cella, the fiery creature too closely resembled the bon-fire monster that had pursued her in the nightmare she had when she was at the vineyard. Even though she did not feel the familiar inner sense of panic such a comparison would have evoked prior to that day, she still wished she had not seen it.

She wondered if all of her bad dreams had been forever banished, now that she had finally allowed herself to recall the reason for their origin. To shake away the traces of horror that tickled her upon looking at the awful creature, she asked their guide something she had wanted to know for some days.

"Were you ever there, in Beleriand?" She remembered the beautiful song that Legolas had sung for her, which told about the Lord and Lady of the city of Doriath in Beleriand, Elu Thingol and the enchantress, Melian.

"Oh, no, although I can not say that I am sorry," answered the Elfprince. "Many long years before I was born, most of that fair and terrible land had been destroyed, during the War of Wrath, and only a tiny sliver remains. But it is real to me, nonetheless, after having been told these tales by some of those who lived there."

Cella assumed he was referring to his father, but Milda was interested in learning who else amongst the elves in the woven tapestry before them were now alive in Mirkwood.

"There are none in these depictions," said Legolas. "These show the battles that took place many years before war came to the Elves in Doriath. And that was where many of my kin were slain, however not by yrch or balrog, but by the sons of Feanor." His face grew grim for a moment and his gaze distant, as if recalling an evil event that he had witnessed. He was silent for many minutes before he spoke again.

"For that, we will need to go to another part of the palace. I know of one tapestry that you both might find interesting." Legolas led them down a few narrow passages until they reached another wide corridor. There, he brought them to stand in front of another trio of meticulously detailed tapestries. These showed the terrible sight of Elves battling Elves as their world around them was destroyed.

It was terrifying for Cella to see the one tapestry that showed the green, fair lands as they crumbled into the sea, and the great waves of foaming sea-water that had swallowed them. But Milda found the ones showing the warring Elves even more fascinating.

"Is that Lord Thaladir?" Milda pointed to one carefully embroidered Elf, who, even though no bigger than her forearm in the picture, nevertheless towered over the others around him with his sword held high. "You can almost see the fire in his eyes!" Around him, several Elves lay bleeding and dying. Both she and Cella expressed their awe at the ferocity of his battle pose. They would never have believed such an attitude possible in the normally staid seneschal.

"Ai," sighed Legolas, "he can almost spout flames from his eyes if need be, believe me, or at least that is how it feels. I have been fair scorched by his glare more than once." He seemed pleased to have been on the receiving end of the seneschal's wrathful visage, as if it was a triumph or an honor. "However, he has not picked up a sword in many years, although he was one of Doriath's mightiest warriors in those days."

Both Cella and Milda agreed that they would rather avoid a sword-wielding Thaladir and were content with the stiffly formal one they were accustomed to in their own days. Legolas laughingly agreed with them and led them to another set of equally beautiful tapestries that showed the inner halls of Thingol's realm in Doriath. There was one in particular that stunned both women nearly speechless.

This tapestry, explained their guide, was a depiction of Elu Thingol, the High King of the Sindar Elves in Beleriand, on his magnificent throne. Like the tapestry of Thranduil that hung in his throne room, this one of the ancient Elf Lord in the time of Doriath's splendor was also a life-sized image. The intense expression in his keen eyes seemed to pierce through the threads they were sewn with as he looked out at the world before him. In one hand, he held a scepter, but he had no crown upon his head.

On either side of the striking-looking King stood two beautiful women, who Legolas identified as his wife, Melian, and their daughter, Luthien Tinuviel.

For a while, the Elfprince's face grew somber and his voice grew quietly wistful as he gave them a brief account of the tragic lives of the three embroidered characters, and of Luthien's mortal husband, Beren, who was not pictured in the tapestry. After that they all stood silent for a few moments before he asked them if they had any places in or around the caves in mind to visit that they had not yet seen.

"Yes, sir," answered Milda. She was saddened by the history of tragedies suffered by the Elves in Beleriand, she told him, both in their battles against the dark forces, and in their love for the wrong people. "Could we go see where Dwain got himself off to? I only ask because I am sure that Cella would like to see her uncle now, wouldn't you?"

Despite being nudged by Milda, Cella was lost for a moment in the stories of Melian and Tinuviel, and was not ready to think of any places to visit, or seeing her uncle. Numbly, she nodded, and followed behind, but reluctantly. She wished she could have heard more of the tales of Doriath and Beleriand, even as sad as they were.

There were many long staircases to the cellars, and at each landing the women thought they must have at last reached the bottom, only to be taken down yet another. Finally, they reached a place that had many corridors branching off from an inner hub-like chamber, like spokes on a wheel. From one passage came the clear sound of water rushing, and Legolas told them that they heard the Forest River that eventually flowed out from the caves in front of the great gates.

It was darker down in the bowels of the Mirkwood caves, but the air was surprisingly fresh, and the women were happy to follow Legolas down a particularly dim tunnel opposite to the one that led to the river, lit only by a scarce few torches along the way. They exited finally in a large storage area that was equal in size to any of the grand halls in the floors above.

Here the walls were not polished to show off their precious contents, but were mostly left roughly carved. The torches did not seem as bright without the reflective surfaces and the sound of water dripping added to the under earth and other worldly feeling of the place. Cella was not bothered much by the lack of sunlight, but she could tell that the mostly silent Milda was not as comfortable in these deepest parts of the caves.

There were dozens of large alcoves built into the cavern walls that contained various-sized wooden casks, which several Elves were busy removing when Cella and Milda arrived. Uncle Dwain stood proudly in the center of the hall with Thaladir beside him, and the entire party of Dwarves before him, save one. Each of the bearded folk were equipped with either a pick or a shovel, except for Duin, brother of Dain, who stood on the other side of Uncle Dwain in his regal finery.

After having seen the tall seneschal in his battling days, Cella could not help but wonder if he missed carrying a sword. He towered above the Dwarves, and stared at them with a hint of alert suspicion in his gaze, as if he was deciding whether or not he would have to run for his weapon at any moment.

At first, Cella was worried about interrupting her uncle as he spoke to the Dwarves. He had to pause now and then to let Duin translate the words into his own tongue for the bearded folk who did not understand either Westron or Elvish. But her uncle noticed the three of them as they approached, and happily stopped to greet her and Milda, and their tour guide.

"Welcome!" Uncle Dwain's face beamed brighter almost than the torches as he spread his arms and indicated the far reaches of the walls around him. "Welcome to the Royal Fermenting Cellars of Mirkwood." He chuckled happily at the sound of it, and then added, "Or they will be soon, it won't take much work after all, at least not with these handy fellows here to help out."

He waved his hand at the Dwarves, who smiled broadly, at least those who understood him. Then they all bowed to the ladies, politely, and in unison, while their funny beards swept the floor.

"Work!" The Dwarf named Narfi cried out gleefully when he stood straight again. "Nay, this is not work, this is play!" Cella noticed the same eager gleam in the eyes of the son of Norfi, the Builder, as she often saw in her own uncle's eyes when the grapes were at their peak and it was time to harvest. It was joy, the joy of doing what one loved to do best, and the opportunity to do it, that lit their eyes that way, or so she thought.

"And a payment for hospitable services rendered," added the brother of Dain, not to be outdone in the flowery speech department. "We are in your service, Master Elf," he bowed to Legolas, "and in the service of the fair-handed Elvenking, whose gracious generosity has been a welcome change from our usual dealings with your folk." He bowed low once more.

"Ah, 'tis true," remarked Uncle Dwain. "His Worship has always dealt fair with me and my niece, and most generously." Cella was proud of her uncle as he excused himself from Legolas, Thaladir, and the Dwarves, so that he could take her and Milda aside to show them around his new domain. He led them to the alcoves while he explained what he had in mind.

The cellars as they were pleased him very much, he was glad to report. Even if there had been no practical way to make any of the various minor adjustments that he had mind, he would have been able to make do with what he was given. It was a blessing, he declared, that the Dwarves were here, but he was getting used to the magical ways of the Elves and all that touched them.

The fermentation barrels would need to be laid out in a specific fashion, with plenty of room around each one for the oak to breathe properly, and the alcoves that were currently being emptied of their casks were going to be remodeled for them. That is where the Dwarves were going to be busy with their mining-tools. Only a bit of stone would need to be carefully removed in some instances and in others entire walls were going to be demolished.

The air was dry enough, a fact he was initially concerned about, and the temperature was nearly perfect. If Cella's uncle could have built his own cellars in the low hills that lay along the sea of Rhun, he would never have hoped to do this well. As he explained to the women why this was, such as the type of rock the caves were carved from and the depth underground that the cellars existed at, the tall seneschal joined them and stood by silently.

As soon as Dwain paused and acknowledged him, Thaladir nodded politely and excused himself for interrupting their conversation before informing them that he had just received a message that His Majesty requested the company of his Court Vintner and his niece, and her friend, in his dining-room for the mid-day meal.

Cella froze at the news. It was time, and she somehow knew this without knowing how she knew, for the truth about her and Thranduil to come out. She could see that the quiet Elf, Nenrandir, had come in while they were all over by the alcoves and stood nearby. He must have brought the message. Her mouth went dry and she was glad she was not expected to say anything for the time being; she would not have been able to speak.

But neither Uncle Dwain nor Milda were sorry to hear the invitation for lunch, except that maybe her uncle was a little reluctant to leave the Dwarves and the demolition project they had already begun to perform, with steady chink-chink sounds from their tools. Soon they were climbing back up the long stairways to the palace, where they joined the Elfking in the small dining-room within his chambers.

Milda was respectfully stupefied by the grandness of the royal chambers, and it was all Cella could do to keep from admitting she had spent time there before. Not that there was anything sinister-sounding about merely eating dinner with the monarch, but she knew that such a fact would only generate many questions that she was not prepared to answer.

In the dining-room, the Elfking was waiting, and Cella's heart lifted to the ceiling when she saw him standing there. Her uncle eagerly expressed his pleasure with the condition of the cellars and his gratitude for the honor shown him that day with the gift of the robe, while Milda stood beside him, suddenly shy again in the presence of the royal Elf.

"Indeed, Dwain, son of Dake, it is you who honor me by agreeing to perform your excellent services under my roof," replied Thranduil. "And, I hope that you will do me the further honor of granting me another and possibly much more difficult request to fulfill."

"Difficult?" Uncle Dwain scoffed. "Your Worship, I am at your command. Whatever you require of me, I am here to serve."

"Good, but what I require of you is not your service, but instead your blessing... "

The Elfking was interrupted by a soft tap on the dining-room door, even though it was slightly ajar, and Cella saw Nandirn standing just outside of it, waiting to be received. In his hands he held some parchment scrolls.

"Come in," said Thranduil. "And I believe that it is time for us to all be seated, before I tell you what it is that I require from you, Master Dwain."

t b c


	48. Chapter 48 of 49

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 48 of 49

Somehow, Cella managed to keep smiling, despite feeling uncomfortable with Uncle Dwain's eager willingness to agree to whatever it was that the Elfking was about to propose to him, before he had heard a single word. She found it hard to look his way.

However, she did dare to take a swift peek at Thranduil, whose handsome face only caused the fluttering in her stomach to increase. Along with the pace of her heartbeat. It would all be over with soon, she reminded herself; there was no reason to feel afraid.

And she felt sure that her uncle would be better off with a full stomach first, before he learned what might be disturbing news. Accordingly, she wished that they could all be served their meal before anything else happened. Not that she would have been able to eat a single bite. But there was no food laid on the table as yet, only place settings and candles.

She was directed to sit at Thranduil's right side while her uncle was seated opposite to her, with Milda beside him, across the table. She dared not look at any of them. Nandirn sat to the left of the Elfking, and Cella could not see his face. There was a shallow wooden bowl in the center of the table filled with small branches from some type of plant or bush that grew small glossy green leaves and bright red berries. She concentrated on studying it to avoid having to look at anyone.

Irregardless of her wish that they eat first, and she knew that she could not be granted every desire that she had no matter how generous Thranduil was to her, they had no sooner all sat down when he began to speak directly to her uncle.

"Before I address my request to you," said Thranduil, "let me begin by saying that I chose that we meet here in private, with only my legal advisor in attendance, because it is my wish that we speak calmly as adults with a common interest, namely Celiel's welfare." He paused. "And this discussion will eventually involve matters that are established by or founded upon law or official or accepted rules of conduct..."

Nervously, Cella watched her uncle's face closely while the Elfking talked to him, and noticed how he had unaccountably grown serious and even looked down at the table as if unable for some reason to meet the monarch's eyes. She thought that he even winced when he heard the words 'accepted rules of conduct'.

"Thus," continued the Elfking, "we have a shared duty to see after her to the best of our ability." Touched by his words, Cella peeked up at him again and was rewarded by his warm smile. She nearly melted from the look in his eyes at he peered down at her. She looked across the table to see if such an exchange of glances was an obvious clue to the royal announcement about to be made.

But her uncle, to her relief, kept his eyes lowered, and even Milda appeared to be preoccupied with her hands, which were folded together before her on the table. Neither of them seemed to be aware of Cella for the moment as Thranduil was speaking.

"It is my wish to discuss issues of a confidential nature that are difficult enough to speak of in a casual conversation, let alone a..."

"Pardon me, Your Worship, but maybe I could make this speech easier for you." Uncle Dwain's voice was subdued in tone when he at last looked up and then directly at Cella, whose ears were roaring so hard that she could barely hear him. He faced Thranduil and continued, "I take full responsibility for... all that happened last night, and I can promise you that it won't ever happen again."

As Uncle Dwain's eyes slid over to Cella again, she wondered with a start what he knew about what had happened last night, exactly, and how he had found out, and why did he hold himself responsible? She had behaved the way she did despite all of her uncle's best efforts to protect her, and maybe even in spite of them. But her heart sank at his words, 'won't ever happen again', and now she was ready to speak out in her own defense, and defend her everlasting love for Thranduil.

And she would have done so, except for at that moment Milda let out a strangled groaning noise and clapped her hands over her own face. Alarmed, Cella looked to the king, who almost appeared confused, but not otherwise concerned. With only a slight shake of his head to indicate that he was not pleased with the reactions of her uncle and friend, he spoke again.

"Dwain," he stated calmly. "Truly, your private behavior under my roof is not my chief concern at... "

"Well, chief or no, it should be, Your Worship," her uncle boldly interrupted. It seemed that now that he had started, he would finish, despite Milda's moans. "Because a man my age should be ashamed of himself for behaving that way, if I want my niece to know and do what's right by showing a good example."

Now the look on her uncle's face made sense at last. It was guilt, not suspicion, nor accusation. Cella felt adrift as she tried to reconcile the conflicting signals she was receiving. Her uncle did not know about her and Thranduil after all. Was he instead confessing to his own wrongdoing? What had he done?

"Uncle?"

But Milda could not hold herself down. Finally she removed her hands from her face and Cella could see that her tearful eyes were nearly wild with fear.

"Please don't blame Dwain!" she cried out. "Not when it was all my fault, really, I am the one, oh don't send us away sir, sire, My Lord!" In order to press her case, Milda stood, which sent her chair flying with a loud clatter, while she clasped her hands together against her chest and lowered herself in another odd curtsey-like bowing motion.

Cella had to look away in order to keep her face straight. She focused on the Elfking, who was watching her friend.

And Milda had continued speaking nonstop with her eyes to the floor. "Or at least not Dwain, don't you send him away. I made him do it, it was my fault. I told him how much I wanted to take a bath, with that waterfall, you know? And I told him I was scared in that dark room there by myself... and he was just keeping me company, and one thing led to another..." Her last few words were whispered.

"I see," pronounced Thranduil.

If Cella had her wits about her she would have heard the amusement in his voice. Instead she was shocked, both at the notion of the two newest subjects taking any type of advantage of His Majesty's good will by apparently misbehaving under his roof, and the first night they were here, and also to realize that her uncle and her friend thought they could hide a secret of any kind from the Elfking.

She did not want to think further than that as to what they might have been doing, while obviously thinking that they were not being watched.

But of course they did not know any better, like she did, about how among the subjects of his realm there were no secrets from Thranduil in the caves of Mirkwood. Even the thick stone walls provided no protection. She felt stricken with remorse for not having thought to warn him, or Milda, not that she would ever have imagined they needed a warning.

And now she was confused by the reason they had been brought together in Thranduil's dining-room. Her uncle seemed to think it had to do with his and Milda's behavior, and maybe he was right.

"Oh dear, Uncle, Milda, I don't think that either of you know yet that His Majesty is, well, he knows, you see, he is aware of everything that happens in his caves, or out in his forest, and everywhere else here. He always knows... everything about everyone."

The alarming shade of red that her uncle's face suddenly turned as well as the stricken look on Milda's miserable face stopped her from saying another word about the ability of the Elfking to read the minds of his subjects.

"No, Celiel, that is not entirely true," said Thranduil mildly. Briefly he explained that his powers were limited to a certain degree by the willingness of his subjects to be open to his mind, or their skill at avoiding detection if they chose. "Take heed of my words, Master Dwain, we are all adults here and I can assure you that your privacy under my roof is safe, and was never at risk."

"But, then," asked Milda, who was still standing up beside the table, "how did you know...?"

"Actually, I was not ever curious about either of your whereabouts last night, after bidding you to have a good rest. I assumed that once you had reached your chambers that you would feel free to make yourself, or, I should say, selves, comfortable in whatever fashion you chose. And as I trusted that you were not going to be conspiring to cause any mischief while you were alone together, I had no cause to attend to your... business."

"Thank you, Majesty, I appreciate that," replied Uncle Dwain, gratefully. "I suppose someone must have reported us then? We tried to tidy up after ourselves, so as not to cause anybody no extra work."

"What happened last night?" Cella could not contain her curiosity anymore after seeing the mortified look that crossed over her friend's face. In her imagination, she pictured a disastrous scene in one or the other of their bathing chambers. They must have made a terrible mess, or maybe just a loud commotion, to have been discovered and reported to Thranduil.

"We just took a bath is all," wailed Milda. "We didn't know we was breaking a law!"

"You weren't!" Cella turned to the Elfking. "They weren't breaking a law, were they?"

"No, and there is no reason to fear, neither of you have broken a law, or even a house rule. And no one has reported you."

"Then what...?" Uncle Dwain took a breath before he continued, "Oh, Cella, I hope you forgive me for acting so foolish, if that is what this is all about."

"Forgive you, uncle?"

"And we were planning to tell you about us in a much nicer way, Cella." Milda added.

"Of course I forgive you, both of you. If you will forgive me, for no matter what His Majesty is about to say to you, it was my fault. I pressed him, relentlessly." She did not mention the parts that Legolas and perhaps Lothriel had to play in the matter, she only knew that if her friend and her uncle were going to be so forthright, then she should too.

"What are you saying, brother-daughter?"

"I am in love with Thr... with His Majesty, uncle." There, she said it. It was out. But her uncle's expression did not change, nor did he seem surprised. Not knowing why it was important to her to somehow share whatever blame there was to go around with her kin and her friend, she made a leap of faith and confessed. "And I... we..., well, we took a bath together, too."

Two sets of blinking eyes confronted her. She lifted her chin high. "And I am not embarrassed about it," she declared. Nevertheless, despite her bold words, she could feel her cheeks burning and knew that she was not fooling anyone. The resultant silence was gently broken by the calm voice of the soft-spoken Nandirn.

"Perhaps," he said, "His Majesty would like to start over, from the beginning?"

Meekly, Milda sat back down beside Uncle Dwain after murmuring something that sounded like a mixture of an apology for kicking up a fuss, an expression of bewilderment at the sudden turn of events, and a blanket request for forgiveness.

"I guess myself and Milda have both gone and made a muddle of things, Your Worship," remarked Dwain sheepishly. "I suppose neither of us is used to proper court manners, and I hope you will take that into account while we find our bearings around here, so to speak."

"Most assuredly," replied Thranduil graciously. "And your manners are above reproach, my good man. Although I would have wished for a more delicately worded confession of my feelings for your niece, nonetheless, what is out on the table is out, and now I believe that I owe you some explanation."

The Elfking proceeded to tell both Uncle Dwain and Milda about Legolas's mother, and her choice to leave her physical body shortly after giving birth, being exhausted both in spirit and patience from coping with the seemingly overwhelming darkness that had threatened to consume them all. Despite his best efforts to make her feel safe, she had never truly grown to love the forest, and mourned her former life amongst her kin in Lindon.

"I do believe that she would have taken my son with her, if she knew how, or had the strength," concluded Thranduil. Milda sniffled audibly while Cella bit her lip and willed herself not to follow suit.

"When I lost my wife to her own purposes, Dwain, it was a bitter blow. Both pride and rage blinded me for a millennia as to how wounded I was by that blow. Old wounds are perhaps the hardest to heal, for they remain buried deep where we imagine they can do no harm, and yet that is where all of the harm is done."

At hearing this, Cella nodded, thinking of how she had for so long kept her heart imprisoned by burying the truth from herself. And how much she loved him for helping her.

"Never did I think," he was saying, "of my own happiness, or peace of mind, as having any bearing on the welfare of my realm, and I have only discovered lately how harmful it was to my entire realm to deny myself joy when I found it"

Cella smiled up at him openly now, relieved at not having to appear unaffected by his nearness to her for another minute of time, at last. Her heart was filled as he spoke directly to her at first.

"But now, I will be happy, and I would be so even if it did not benefit a single subject to my throne. I will not deny myself this freely offered, if brief, respite from the never ending endurance of this world until its bitter ending, and the end of all things." The Elfking looked over at Uncle Dwain and said, "More importantly, I will not deny your niece what she professes to be her heart's desire, and I believe her."

"From the way she can't keep her eyes off of you, Majesty, I would believe her, too," answered Cella's uncle.

"Within my realm, as your niece stated previously, all willing minds are open to me. Her pure heart shines brightly and its intentions are clear, and immutable. Her wounds are deep and with me she finds such ease as can be found in Middle-earth. I will not deny her that. Would you?"

"My niece has never spoken up much for herself before, Your Worship," replied Uncle Dwain after a long, thoughtful pause. "And for that alone I am grateful to you." He turned his eyes to Cella and his whole face grew soft as he looked at her. "The way you stuck your chin out just now, my child, made you look just like your mother. She was quiet like you unless she had something important to say, and she didn't truck with mincing her words when need be."

"Before we proceed any further," said Thranduil, "I think it important that you all understand that if I say you are guiltless, then it is so. I am the law in my own realm. I create the law, and I carry the law within me." He tapped his chest before adding, "But I can not speak such for myself. I am not without guilt in this whole affair, but neither am I ashamed."

As she had seen him do before, from time to time, Cella could tell that the Elfking had withdrawn into his self, almost as if he had entered a door into another room and was speaking to an unseen audience, and spoke more to them than to his guests at the table.

"As far as any higher laws there might be, and their consequences, I have already decided not to sail west, so entry into the Undying Lands is not for me an eventual reward for good behavior." His mouth tugged up at one side in a bitter grimace that might have been a smile, or a reaction to an inner stab of pain.

Only Cella seemed to understand what this meant. It was possible that the Elfking would never see his wife, even if she was made whole again in the Halls of Mandos, and waited for him. 'Never' was more than she could bear to think of him living without his first, and possibly one and only, love.

"Why will you not ever go to her, Sire?" The words escaped her before she could stop them, but she had to know.

"The wood elves will never leave their forest, firiel, even though in ages to come, under the best of circumstances, it can only further diminish." He paused and chuckled bitterly before continuing. "If we could be that fortunate, and not lose it all to the..." Instead of finishing, he waved his hand to indicate that he was speaking of those dark forces ever in alignment against the Fair Folk. "And I will not leave them alone and leaderless against that as long as I draw breath. It was a vow to my father that I will not foreswear."

Without having to explain his unwillingness to name the merciless dark shadow that lay south, in the land of Mordor, Thranduil continued. "Irregardless, whatever my fate may be, it is not over the sea. Perhaps I will fade into the mists of time, and so pass somehow to Mandos's abode, and beyond. But no one can say what will happen at the end of all time, so I will let my fate tell itself when that day ever comes."

"Excuse me, Majesty," Uncle Dwain broke in. "But I am hearing a lot about confessions and fates and a wife somewhere to be reckoned with, I gather, but what does this all have to do with Cella's future? May I ask, as her kin, what your intentions for her are right now? I don't think I need to remind anyone about the ugliness we left behind us in Laketown, but a lot of that talk had to do with my niece's reputation, if you see what I am getting at."

"Indeed, I do see, Master Dwain," replied the Elfking as he held his hand out to Nandirn. The gray-clad Elf handed him a scroll, which he opened and studied for a moment before looking up to the man and adding, "And I understand the necessity of receiving your blessing after I have asked for it as well."

To that, her uncle could only nod in agreement.

"To satisfy the law of men, my legal advisor here reports to me that your mortal marriage law is based on standard contract law, in which two parties enter into an agreement, both of the parties receive a benefit from the agreement, witnesses sign their names, and the contract is sealed. Can you tell me if there is more to it than that?"

This type of language sounded quite reasonable to Cella, who had never thought of marriage at all, and especially not with His Majesty, let alone thought of it in such simple and stark terms. The most she had ever hoped for was that her uncle would not try to separate her from Thranduil.

"There is love," said Milda, who seemed the most taken aback among them by the Elfking's business-like approach to the question. But it was to Uncle Dwain that Thranduil spoke in reply.

"It is within my power to agree to cherish your niece, to see after her welfare, and to keep her safe from harm for as long as she lives," he said. "That is what I can offer, do you accept that? On behalf of your niece?"

t b c

A/N Okay, I am evil, but next chapter will be the last chapter and no more cliffhangers! Maybe an epilogue...


	49. Chapter 49 of 49

The King's Vineyard

By Mary A

Beta Malinorne

Chapter 49 of 49

As Cella sat and waited for Uncle Dwain to respond to what Thranduil had asked him, she felt amazed that their secret was not only out in the open, but that the world had continued turning despite that. She gazed steadily at her uncle across the table and willed him to accept His Majesty's proposition.

Valiantly, she fought back the stubbornly lingering fear that he might reject what was offered on her behalf, and could still try to take her away from Mirkwood. Of all of her recently abandoned fears, only this one would not go away and it clung to her heart.

She had trusted the Elfking up to a certain point and had thought that everything would work out with Uncle Dwain, somehow. But ever since the flurry of confusion and impromptu confessions from her uncle and Milda, she was no longer sure of anything.

Even though she believed that she would never have to be separated from the Elfking, no matter what her uncle did or said, she still wished that he would agree. And do it quickly, too, because she thought it would also feel good to be able to breathe normally again. After a small eternity, Uncle Dwain finally spoke up.

"If it pleases Your Worship, I would like to go straight to the point," he said to Thranduil. "Are you offering Cella marriage?" Nandirn answered instead of the Elfking.

"In the eyes of the Edain," he said. "In a strictly legal fashion, according to the prevailing contract laws of the region, it could be so termed," Only Milda made a noise that did not exactly express delight at hearing his explanation. Every one else waited.

As Cella watched her uncle's face, she could see what the Elves saw when they watched hers. His feelings were not hidden, or obscured by a mask of placid indifference; instead he was obviously perturbed, and anxious. After absorbing the information, he looked at her, and she could see even more clearly that he was not sure how to reply.

"And what do you want, brother-daughter?"

"I want...," Cella stopped to think. Now everyone at the table seemed to lean in toward her as they waited for her answer. But it was hard to decide what to say, because she already had what she wanted. Marriage, or something like it, was not as important to her as being able to love Thranduil openly, and not to ever have to hide it from her uncle, or anyone else.

It was as simple as that. This realization released her lungs, and she could breathe again. She only had that one desire. To be able to love the Elfking, without anyone, including the Elfking himself, telling her that she could not or should not.

"I really only want you to be happy for me, uncle," she said. "I will not leave His Majesty's side if I can help it, and I will still love him whether you are happy or not. But I would rather that you were happy for me. And that is all that I want."

"I will always only want what is best for you, Cella," he answered, less anxious now. "And that means that I sometimes have to put my own happiness aside to decide what is right."

"Wait a minute...," interjected Milda. Uncle Dwain put his hand up to silence her and she slumped back into her seat with a sigh of impatience, but kept quiet.

"Since the day we lost your parents," her uncle started, but paused, and a look of regret crossed his face as it always did when he accidentally mentioned that event. Cella reached across the table and patted his hand.

"You can talk about it to me now, uncle, really, I won't feel bad." She looked up to Thranduil for confirmation and he nodded in agreement. Her uncle lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but otherwise he did not look convinced, and he still picked his words carefully.

"Well, child, since... then, your welfare has been my chief concern," he said. "And even making sure that the vineyard turned a good profit was mainly to keep you fed and clothed and with a roof over your head. I would have grown grapes no matter what happened, but you gave me a reason to be the best that I could be."

"And you are still the best," Cella said proudly. "And I am sure that you were probably the best even before that day, uncle." She did not mention the drought, nor did he.

"Be that as it may be," he replied, "the one thing that I never could do was bring that spark of life back into your eyes that went out on that day, the day that your parents... passed on. And now..." he swallowed hard and Cella could see that his eyes briefly swam in tears that he fought back before he could continue. "I think that I do see that light in your eyes again, right now. How can I not be happy about that?"

"Then you do forgive me? And you are not angry?"

"You know, it's a funny thing," said Uncle Dwain, although he did not sound amused. "I suppose that I should be feeling sore at you both for what happened, but I can't bring myself to do it. Leastways not after..." He glanced at Milda, and then continued. "Well, let's just say that most any body seems willing to forgive himself for being foolish, but if he can't bear to let anyone else get away with it, then he is a hypocrite."

"Agreed," said Thranduil.

"And I can abide a fool but I can't abide a hypocrite, especially living right inside of my skin. Meaning no disrespect."

Uncle Dwain hastily directed this last comment to the Elfking, as if it had occurred to him, too late, that he had just inadvertently, if obliquely, referred to the monarch as a fool.

"Perhaps you would take a moment to read the terms of the agreement?" Nandirn handed Uncle Dwain another scroll as he spoke. "It may help you to decide if you know exactly what aran Thranduil is proposing."

For several moments the room stayed silent while her uncle read. Cella's head was swimming now and she could barely believe what was happening. She tried to smile at Milda, who was not slumping in her seat anymore, but her friend was reading over her uncle's shoulder and did not notice. And then she almost jumped when she felt something touching one of her hands, which were now folded on her lap.

It was Thranduil's hand, and she grabbed onto it gratefully, twining her fingers in between his, relieved by his touch. When she looked into his eyes, they were calm and at peace. She took courage from the confidence she saw within them, and her head cleared.

Her uncle let out a long, low sound, halfway between a whistle and an expression of relief, as he set the parchment down on the table. "I think that if Cella was my flesh and blood daughter, I could wish for no better life for her than under your direct authority, control, and...," he leaned to read the document before adding, "jurisdiction, Your Worship." He smiled.

However, next to him, Milda had grown noticeably upset. Cella watched her friend's eyes as they darted swiftly from her uncle to the Elfking, and then to Nandirn, and then back to her uncle. Finally she erupted.

"Doesn't Cella get a chance to read this?" Her hissing words were so indignant that Cella cringed inside. But her friend saved herself by addressing them to Uncle Dwain.

"Hush, dear, er, Milda. I am sure that she will," he reassured her.

At that, the Elfking lifted the scroll and handed it to Cella. For a few moments she stared at the words while she waited for them to organize themselves into something she was able to understand. There were too many terms that she did not recognize, having never dealt with any legal issues in her life. Except for the time she was questioned by the Laketown's sheriff about Gorst's first attack.

She had been asked to read and sign a document on that day, too. But that one was only her own words that had been written down, they being her answers to the sheriff's questions and her version of the events. She had understood every word of it without translation.

But this piece of parchment was dense with phrases such as: 'the party of the first part', and 'the second', and 'the third part', and words such as 'whereas' and 'wherefore' seemed to sprinkled with abandon within every other sentence. She felt completely lost.

"What does it all mean?" Cella handed the scroll back to the Elfking, who then laid it on the table. "What do I have to do?"

It was Nandirn who answered her. "Will you freely agree to solemnly swear undying fealty and allegiance to aran Thranduil Oropherion, and freely agree to both honor and serve him, in both word and deed? Until the day of your mortal death?"

"Of course! I mean, yes. I do solemnly swear to do all of that, sir." It sounded very much like the ceremonial words that were used when her uncle was declared Royal Court Vintner, and those were easy to understand.

"In return, aran Thranduil agrees to keep and protect you to the best of his ability, and under his authority, control, and jurisdiction, as a subject of his realm and a highly regarded member of his royal house, until the day of your death. Do you agree to these terms?"

"Yes, I do," said Cella.

"As her legal guardian, Dwain, son of Dake, do you thus agree to these terms stated in this contract, on behalf of your niece?"

"I don't rightly see how I could refuse on her behalf, seeing how she's so set on it," replied Uncle Dwain, obviously still bemused, but he was smiling a bit more easily now.

"Is that a yes?" Cella could hear the touch of humor in Nandirn's patient voice when he asked, and it helped. After her uncle quickly agreed that he indeed meant 'yes', it was difficult to restrain herself from leaping out of her seat to embrace him.

"And, of course I give you my blessing, brother-daughter," he added. "And I am happy for you, for both of you."

Nandirn rose from his seat to open the door, and in walked Thaladir. The tall noble Elf carried a small casket that was marvelously made out of dark wood and decorated with mithril inlaid carvings. The delicate silvery vines were very like the ones Cella had seen on the royal bed, and in the center of the lid was a flower with seven petals.

The seneschal set it down on the table and lifted the lid to reveal writing instruments, an inkpot, a stick of sealing wax, and the royal seal. As he lifted each item from within the box he set them out on display almost ceremoniously. It was mesmerizing.

While he was thus occupied, Nandirn sat back down next to Thranduil, lifted the scroll from the table and laid it back down in front of the seneschal.

"You will need to sign the document with your legal name, your birth name," Nandirn told Cella, adding, "I understand that Celiel is not the name you were given by your mother, as is the mortal custom?"

"It is Anya," said Cella, wonderingly. It had been many years since anyone had called her Anya, and then only her mother ever had. In a way she had been named very like an elf, only she had never been given a choice as a woman to choose any other.

It had never seemed to matter to anyone before today what her birth name was, and it made her feel very unusual. It was as if she had reverted to a child for an instant and then became an adult in the next, when she remembered and then said her real name. She watched as Thaladir gracefully wrote her name down on the parchment.

"And what was your father's name?" Quietly, Cella answered all of Nandirn's questions, including her mother's name before she married her father, and when and where every one was born. After her it was her uncle's turn to give his name and the names of his parents, and Cella's other grandparents, as well.

Everyone was asked to stand and sign the parchment, even Milda, although at first she balked. She seemed bewildered by the request, not to mention everything else that was happening. Before she could say much of anything, she was stunned into silence by Thaladir's glare and did as she was asked without any complaint. After every signature had been collected, the seneschal heated the wax and poured some at the bottom of the page and Thranduil pressed the royal seal into it.

While Thaladir sprinkled sand on the wet ink to hasten its drying, Nandirn directed Cella and Milda to return to their seats and asked them to wait there for a few moments. He, Uncle Dwain, and Thranduil left the dining room. Only the seneschal remained. Milda finally spoke again, but she whispered this time.

"Do you think that Nandirn is some kind of lawyer? I thought he was just a bodyguard."

"I am starting to think that the night Uncle Dwain asked him to watch over us, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," whispered Cella back.

"Indeed, my lady," said the tall Elf. "The Royal Counsel does not usually provide escort services to those employed at the vineyard. However, your assessment of those events is entirely correct." He told them how Nandirn had been on his way to a meeting with the Elfking that night, but had been waylaid by Cella's uncle and pressed into the role of temporary caretaker for his niece, and her friends, by the unwitting mortal. The gentle-spoken Elf had been far too polite to say no.

And Milda added that it was a lucky thing to have happened, considering how badly things turned for Cella with Gorst, and how no one would have known if not for the vigilance of the gray-clad Elf that night. As she spoke, Thaladir had carefully laid all of the contents of the marvelously made casket back inside of it, and then closed the lid. He asked the women to continue waiting where they were, and then he left the room with the freshly signed scroll in hand.

"Isn't there even going to be a wedding?" Milda sounded more sad than curious.

"I think that was the wedding," said Cella. But she was not at all disappointed with the signing being the only ceremony she would have. However, she did wish that she could be with Thranduil now, and wondered where he and her uncle were. The door opened, and she hoped it was one or the other of them, but she smiled when she saw that it was Legolas who entered the room.

"And how are you two ladies doing this afternoon? Are you enjoying your stay with us, Milda? Did I miss something? Why the long face?" The Elfprince's cheeriness was like the first fresh breeze after a summer's thunderstorm has passed. Before either of them could reply, he added, "Oh, did I tell you? I am here to escort the both of you to the throne room."

"This is more like it," whispered Milda when they entered the hall where Thranduil sat on his magnificent throne, surrounded by the members of his royal house, including Uncle Dwain. The Elves and the man flanked the throne on either side in neat, orderly lines. Even the Dwarves stood nearby, and they all bowed to her as she was led forward. Their beards swept the floor in unison as they did so, but Cella only noticed the Elfking.

He was crowned again, as he had been the night of the feast, and as she drew near, Cella noticed that the glossy leaves and red berries that wreathed his head were the same kind as the ones in the wooden bowl in the dining-room. On him, they made a much nicer display.

Legolas brought her to stand before the throne, but gestured for her to first face Thaladir, who was standing to Thranduil's right side. The seneschal in turn requested that she place her hand over her heart and repeat his words back to him, first advising her to use her birth name for the purposes of the ceremony.

"I...," he began.

"I, Anya," said Cella, and her voice stayed steady and clear as she said the remainder of her oath of allegiance, repeating the words back carefully. "Do solemnly swear fealty unto the throne of this realm... And I do freely agree... to be placed, body, mind, and spirit... under the authority, control and jurisdiction of Thranduil Oropherion... and swear to loyally serve him to the best of my ability... for as long as I live."

She was then directed to face the Elfking, and kneel before him for the rest of her oath:

"Your command now is ever my desire and your requests my duty to fulfill... May my service always please you and may your justice be swift if it does not... I give myself to you freely, until my death you shall have me in your keeping... As the stars ever turn, my will is yours... In need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, until you depart from your throne, death takes me, or the world ends... so say I, Anya."

After she was finished, she could hear Milda sniffling. It made her happy to know her friend was getting her wish for a ceremony after all. Thranduil stood and held his hand out to Cella, and drew her to stand before him while he spoke to her.

"As the sun guards the earth by day, as the stars by night," he said, "so shall I serve you as your liege lord. This is my sworn duty. I shall not abandon you, Anya, even until your death, ere the stars close their eyes and sleep. You are of my house, even as the very stone it is carved from. I pledge to hold you, to guard you, and to keep you. I pledge to honor your service as it deserves, and reward loyalty in kind. To protect and defend you against every creature with all of my power, until I depart from this throne, death takes me, or the world ends. Upon my honor and the lawful command of this throne, so say I, Thranduil."

From somewhere behind her, Cella heard sobbing, but she was too happy for tears, and felt the familiar floating sensation lifting her from the ground as she gazed into the shining eyes of her king. However, he lifted his eyes from hers and glanced over her shoulder, and she could not help but turn to see what it was he was looking at. It was Nenrandir standing at the door across the hall.

After Thranduil beckoned for him to approach, the quiet Elf bowed to both him and Cella and begged their pardon for interrupting. He then informed the monarch that the wine barrels had arrived, and that the Laketown boatmen were waiting for someone to take charge of them.

Even the eyes of the Dwarves lit up upon hearing the news, and Cella heard them speculating in noisy whispers about the readiness of the cellars and their desire to return to their work down there while there was still some time to finish. Uncle Dwain and Thaladir were given permission to leave with the Dwarves, and the rest of the royal house, including Legolas, was excused as well.

Before she would leave the throne room, Milda insisted on hugging Cella. "I am happy for you, Cella, eh, Anya? What do I call you now?"

With a shrug of her shoulders, Cella turned to the Elfking.

"Firiel, you are free to decide whichever name you choose," he said.

"I don't think I want a new name," she answered. "Cella has worked fine so far, as my uncle would say." Despite being glad that her friend had been there to witness her oath, she could not help but want to be alone with Thranduil. But Milda did not seem anxious to leave.

"So, I wonder which way Dwain took himself off to. I guess all this commotion with the wine barrels means no lunch," Milda said this last a bit woefully, and with her hand on her midsection. The Elfprince was suddenly standing next to her and he laughed. He promised that he would take her directly to the kitchen, and make sure that she was fed, if she would come with him now.

And then, finally, Cella was all alone with the Elfking.

Thranduil went back to his throne, leading her with him, and sat her upon his lap. She was hoping that he would kiss her now, but instead he held her close to him. She snuggled her face into his neck and breathed him in, loving him with all of her heart.

"How does it feel, firiel, to belong to the great and terrible Elvenking?" She sat up to look at him while she answered.

"It feels like a dream that I never want to wake up from, Sire," she said. And then he did kiss her. But it was not for long enough, at least as far as she was concerned. He broke away and chuckled at her frown.

"Close your eyes," he said and she obeyed. She could feel him reaching down to the floor for something from the way his body tipped her to the side, and then he sat straight again. "Open them."

He was holding a narrow box, which must have been made from mithril, she assumed, from the way the silvered finish seem to glow from within. "Lift the lid," he directed her, and she gasped when she saw what was inside. There, in glittering glory on a bed of velvet, lay a necklace of perfectly shaped emeralds.

At his command, she lifted her hair and turned the back of her neck to him just so that he could affix the astonishing jewelry there. The weight of the stones was a surprise, and even her untrained amateur eye knew that the value of these gems was incalculable.

"When this was presented to me," he told her, "it was in reward for that which needed no reward. And I wished, in vain I thought then, that such a magnificent piece of work would not have to suffer the unhappy fate of gathering dust in my treasure-house for all time. I am most pleased to see now that it will not."

"Your beautiful eyes are the only emeralds that I ever need to look at, Majesty." But even as she said it, Cella could not keep her fingers away from the ones around her neck. It was tangible proof of their unusual union, and the promises that he had made to her.

She needed no more reassurances, or even a declaration of love from him, as long as she could gaze at him whenever she wanted to and for as long as she wished. To be able to please him to the best of her ability, and be wrapped up in his arms while she did so, was all that she had ever wanted from him.

"Close your eyes again, little star," Thranduil said. And then he kissed her properly.

The End

A/N: The historical reference to the emerald necklace can be found in The Hobbit, Chapter Eighteen, 'The Return Journey':

"Even a fourteenth share was wealth exceedingly great, greater than that of many mortal kings. From that treasure Bard sent much gold to the Master of Lake-town; and he rewarded his followers and friends freely. To the Elvenking he gave the emeralds of Girion, such jewels as he most loved, which Dain had restored to him."

For purposes of this story, I have referred to Thranduil's eyes as being green, however, that is using poetic license as the color of Elves' eyes is normally gray. However, I am going to assume that as the Elfking took over leadership of the Great Greenwood, he became more like the forest itself.

This story was based on a request from an avid fan, and was supposed to be a short and naughty PWP. However, the Elfking refused to participate, and insisted that if I tell a story about him, that I at least try to keep JRR Tolkien, his creator, in mind. Therefore, this story turned into a personal challenge, to make my readers believe that a mere mortal maid could find her heart's desire with the Elves... if only on their terms.

Thank you to all of my great reviewers. You will never know how much you all have inspired me and kept me typing. A special thanks to Daw the Minstrel (who I always felt was peeking over my shoulder while I worked on a chapter, but not in a bad way!)

Also: SilverRaiine, Crystal Moon Magic, Moriarwen, Jen, Cindy17, Periannath, LostSchizophrenic and Naraku's Miasma for keeping up with the feedback for those last few chapters. You will always be in my heart.

And hugs and kisses to Raider K and Lessien Helyanwe for including KV in their C2 communities. And to all of the brand new Thranduil fans, I love you guys so much for allowing Legolas to just be an incidental character!

(Epilogue to come)


	50. Epilogue

The King's Vineyard

By: Mary A

Beta: Malinorne

Epilogue

* * *

"No great thing is created suddenly, any more than a bunch of grapes... Let it first blossom, then bear fruit, then ripen." _Epictetus__, circa 60AD_

* * *

That night, after the last of the wine barrels had been unloaded and properly laid in the cellar, there was a feast. It would prove to be one of the largest and most memorable feasts in the history of the Halls of the Elvenking in Mirkwood. Not to mention the first in memory that included both Dwarves and Men amongst the company.

All of the Elves in the palace that day were filled with an uncommonly infectious joy, which they poured into the preparations. The largest hall was festooned with banners and adorned with sprays of evergreen branches, such as yew and spruce, which perfumed the air. Long tables groaned under mountains of food.

The tales told afterwards of the savory meal, intoxicating drink, and magical music, were eventually carried to all of the surrounding regions, and in the weeks to follow they gained near legendary proportions in the telling and retelling.

The previously recalcitrant Dwarves finally felt comfortable enough amidst the Elves to join the party. They were certainly in the mood for a hearty feast after their productive day of either removing or reshaping the stone of the cellars. They had worked alongside those Elves of the realm who also had knowledge of stonecraft. Both groups admired the other's skills and learned to cooperate more swiftly than most would have imagined.

Uncle Dwain was exhausted but happy about the final results with the unloading and storage of the newly arrived wine barrels. There were many eagerly willing hands and strong backs among Thranduil's subjects, and the work had gone quickly with merry songs and without mishap.

It turned out that the impatient Laketown boatmen had a good reason to want haste. The weather was promising a storm, with increasingly higher winds and dark clouds gathering. While it was still light outside, Cella and Milda were allowed to bundle themselves up and leave the caves to stand above the riverbank and watch the unloading.

The fierce gusts whipped their words away almost before they spoke them and they had to shout to each other to be heard. They worried out loud over how the freshly emptied flat boats were being tossed about by the wind blowing over the river, which sent them bumping and banging against each other.

All around them, the last tattered autumn leaves flew about as the branches on the beech trees on the hillside behind them, and the ones that grew along the river's edge, were battered and bent by the increasingly strong gales. But the well-tethered craft in the river were safe; it was the boatmen who were in danger if they tried to board them.

When the clouds burst, and the driving rain forced the spectators back inside, the men from the Long Lake were grateful for Thranduil's invitation to come in to his caves and wait out the storm, which he predicted would not blow over until the following day. And they had gladly joined in the feast.

The Long Lake men stayed close to the Lonely Mountain's Dwarves, who they felt quite comfortable with, and were surprised to find visiting there. They marveled openly at the situation of the humans who were living within the caves. It was unheard of, among the general population of Esgaroth at least, for the gates of Mirkwood to be open to any one else besides Elves.

The boatmen usually did not tarry long in the forest after making deliveries to the halls and they were very curious about everything in the caves, including what the occasion was for such a grand feast. The reasons given to them for the celebration varied according to who answered.

First, they were informed that it was a feast for the lost party of Dwarves, who had so far avoided being duly honored as guests, and next they were told it was for the returning vineyard workers who were being welcomed back to their home.

Cella had told them that the feast was for the new Court Vintner's title to be honored, and there was also the much anticipated arrival of the wine barrels. But Milda insisted that the true reason was to acknowledge the newest member of the royal house, who had exchanged oaths with the king of the Elves, and in the presence of many witnesses, within the royal throne room that very day.

She was clever enough, though, and protective of Cella's reputation, as well as not sure about all of the legal machinations employed by the Elves, to say no more than that. The boatmen could draw their own conclusions.

And Cella sat at the main table during the feast, in the highest position of honor at the right hand of the Elfking. The magnificent emeralds that graced her neck sparkled and flashed in the torchlight. The Dwarves' eyes had lit up at the sight of the necklace, and much murmuring speculation was heard from them, but they otherwise minded their manners and made no remarks.

Over the Royal Court Vintner's protests, a barrel of the wine just delivered from the vineyard was brought up to the feasting hall. Despite the fact that it had not had a proper aging, according to Master Dwain, it was opened, poured, and pronounced delicious, and even the ale-loving Dwarves returned for a refill of their wine bowls.

When the musicians began to play Cella's favorite song, she accepted Thranduil's invitation to dance with him without hesitation. She did not seem bothered at all that no one else shared the floor with them.

Uncle Dwain was next to have a turn with Cella and he reminded her of her former shyness about being seen dancing in front of a crowd. She told him that when she first heard the music that the Elves played at the vineyard, she had changed her mind. It was that irresistible.

While she was dancing with Uncle Dwain, Lothriel and Milda found that they shared a common interest, namely Cella's happiness, although for different reasons. Lothriel knew that if the mortal maid was happy then her lord would be happy, and the entire realm would benefit, but Milda just wanted Cella to be happy for her own sake.

From Milda's wagging tongue, Lothriel, Glawareth, and Lanthiriel learned the full details of Gorst's attack and Cella's terrible injuries, and what else she had 'heard tell' about the vigilantes and the fire. Together, the woman and the Ellith conspired to make this night as wonderful as they could for the mortal maid and the Elfking.

When Narfi, son of Norfi the Builder, approached the main table, bowed low, and then asked Cella to dance, she looked to Thranduil. After a pause, he nodded his consent and then smiled to watch her being swung about by the stout but bouncy gentle-dwarf.

The Dwarves had been invited to delay their travels and spend the winter in the caves. Master Dwain had a few ideas for his wine cellar, such as a better drainage system, and for some of the river water to be diverted into the fermenting area. He also wanted a better air flow throughout.

Narfi was considering it seriously, but Duin, brother of Dain, had his fill of adventure, and arranged for a ride back to the Long Lake with the returning boatmen. From there, he and his two retainers could hire another boat to sail up the Running River to the Lonely Mountain, and home.

After more than a few bowls of wine had been passed around, Milda joined Cella at the main table and told her about how she had fallen in love with her uncle. It was not, as first thought, during the time Dwain was being nursed back to health, although that period had been an important factor. He was lonely and, after Willem's treachery was discovered, she was devastated. But Milda swore that there was more to it than that.

"It was probably all the way back to that night when the king Elf found you and carried you up his stairs, while Ingarde and me could only watch? My heart went out to your uncle that night and it never really came back." Both of the women were silent for a moment. And then Milda continued, rueful in tone.

"Willem was, well, I always thought he was a little too good to be true. There was something off-kilter about how perfect he was, I mean for a vineyard worker, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Dwain is plain as plain can be, and doesn't pretend to be nothing more than what he is, a good man."

Cella agreed, but she had drunk enough wine to speculate out loud how much having warm feet all winter had to do with Milda's tender feelings. Before any further conversation could take place between them, both of the women were invited to dance again.

After Cella had danced with Legolas, Nandirn, Duin, brother of Dain, Himbor, her uncle again, and even the reticent seneschal, who was surprisingly graceful on the dance floor, she was waylaid by a mirthfully mischievous Milda and her accomplice, Lothriel, with Glawareth and Lanthiriel beside them.

"We are going to hide her from you," said Milda cheekily to the Elfking's query about their intentions with his newest subject. Although he lifted an eyebrow at the sassy remark from her friend, Cella, obviously tipsy, grinned up at him.

"Do you think you will be able to find me? Soon?"

"Very soon," he answered, and then gestured for the group to be on their way, which turned out to be toward the royal bathing chamber. They crowded around her as she bathed and discussed what to do with her hair. But Cella vetoed any plans that included ribbons or hair combs or any other attachments. And she brushed her own hair, too.

All of her clothes had been moved to the royal bedchamber, and the Ellith and her friend were startled by Cella's tears when she saw her smaller wardrobe standing next to Thranduil's massive one in the alcove next to his bed where he dressed. She tried to explain how there was something so firmly solid about the two pieces of furniture, hers and his, standing side by side, that made what was happening to her very real.

But when they tried to coax her into wearing one of the fancier new lacy nightgowns they found within the emotion-provoking wardrobe, Cella was not tearful at all when she calmly refused to put it on. She informed them that she was going to wear the perhaps plainer but still lovely gown that His Majesty had remembered to bring for her from the vineyard or nothing at all.

"That Elf would probably like that, nothing at all," said Milda with a snort. "But I think it would be wiser to make him work for that just a little bit tonight." The pragmatic Ellith agreed.

After she was gowned, they had her hide behind the drapes attached to the royal bed's canopy to wait for the Elfking and they left her alone there. When Thranduil came into the room, he called out her name and pretended not to be able to find her at first, even though her bare feet were quite clearly visible.

"It does not help you to remain hidden if you insist on giggling, firiel," he announced, which made it worse.

"It is good to hear you laugh," he told her when he finally 'found' her, and pulled her out to stand in front of him, between his spread knees, while he sat on the bed. "The last time you were in my bed, you wept."

Cella began to speak, but he put a fingertip on her lips to silence her.

"I can not promise you that you will never weep again," he added, "only that I will do everything in my power not to be the cause of your tears, and to wipe them from your eyes if you will let me." He removed his finger to let her answer.

"Let you? Did you forget how I promised that your every command was my desire and your requests my duty to perform?" She tried to imitate the seneschal's careful pronunciations and solemn attitude. Thranduil laughed.

"No, I have not forgotten your oaths, not for a moment." His eyes were shining.

"And what is your command for me, oh great and terrible Elvenking?"

"Turn your back," he said and when she did he moved her hair from her neck so that he could unclasp the necklace, after first bestowing a kiss there that made her shiver. He explained that as much as he loved to see them sparkle in the candlelight, the stones of the necklace might cut into her bare skin.

"But my skin is not bare, Sire."

"No it is not, and that is my second command," he said. She turned to face him before complying with his unspoken order and then pulled off her nightgown. He drew her closer to him in order to reward her with a kiss, and she visibly trembled when his hand found one of her soft breasts and cupped it tenderly. It was hard to do, but she managed to break away from him to talk.

"Can I make a request, Majesty?"

"You must know by now that your every wish is my command," he replied while he held her at her waist and pulled her close to him to kiss her again before she could tell him.

One of her hands had boldly wandered, however, and she tugged at the ties on his leggings. Instead of trying to say out loud what she most desired, she sent him a clear mental picture of how she wished to see him, which was naked, and above her, and as soon as he could manage it.

And she did not have to wait very long.

* * *

When the boatmen returned to their homes by the Long Lake, some days later, they reported on the spectacular wedding of the woodland's king to a mortal maid as if it was a fact, even though they could not provide eye-witness testimony to any ceremony. Irregardless, they had been to the party, drank the best wine they had ever tasted, and had seen the famous necklace of emeralds, and that was enough proof for anyone.

Their tale was believed by all, and the few of Gorst's remaining kin were chilled at the idea of perpetuating a personal vendetta that would now include the dangerous Elven inhabitants of the treacherous forest.

Cowards that they were, the vengeful men were also more concerned with saving their own necks than with pursuing a woman who was being harbored by the Elves. To see justice done to their kin was one thing, and perhaps possible if she was living anywhere else besides Mirkwood, but to even plan an assault on a member of the royal house of the Elvenking was akin to digging one's own grave. Without further word, they silently declared a truce, and never tried to invade the king's vineyard, or harm any of his workers, again.

Truly the End

At the moment, I have no firm plans for a sequel involving Cella, but I may revisit the vineyard in the future.


End file.
